


An Elite Guard Halloween Special

by HiddenDirector



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Awkward Social Situations, Halloween, Jealousy, Language, Multi, Non-Explicit, Sexual Content, Sexy Costumes, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-19 15:36:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12413046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenDirector/pseuds/HiddenDirector
Summary: Lockdown was excited to spend his first Halloween with Prowl, but the ninja already promised Jazz he'd go to the Elite Guard's annual Halloween bash.  The closer it gets the more he regrets making that promise, though, as he has to deal with an overly revealing costume, a jealous and possessive Lockdown, and awkward social situations.





	1. Chapter 1

There was nothing Prowl found more peaceful than an evening with a good book.  The October wind blew outside their apartment above the Death’s Head Garage, giving him a sense of tranquility as he curled up in his favorite recliner.  He didn’t suspect for a moment that something was sneaking up behind him, fangs bared at the neck barely hidden under the collar of the loose, comfy sweater he wore on his days off.

At least, that was what it seemed like until his hand shot out, smacking the creature behind him square in the middle of the face without even bothering to turn around.  “May I help you, Lockdown?” he asked.  His voice dripped with unamused annoyance.

“Geez, kid, can’t take a little Halloween joke?” the pale-skinned older man rubbed his abused face.

“I don’t find assaulting me with pointy objects to be amusing,” the Japanese man scowled, mocha eyes leaving his book to glare at him.

“They’re just fang-caps, Prowl.  They’re not gonna hurt you.”  To emphasize his point, Lockdown leaned forward again, bracing himself for another strike.  This time none came, though, and he was allowed access to the creamy skin of Prowl’s neck.  He grazed a fang across the skin, giving it a nibble.  The ninja he now held gave a small shudder of pleasure.  “See?  You like it.  Now let’s say you stay home on Halloween and we can put them to good use…”

“No.”

“Aw, come on, kid!”  That growl was the closest to whining Lockdown would willingly come.

Prowl huffed, having none of it.  “No,” he repeated, pushing Lockdown away again, this time by his shoulder.  The fingers of his other hand deftly marked his page and put the book to the side.  He then turned to his distraction fully, looking directly into his eyes.  This was his no-nonsense gaze, lips pressed together in a thin, aggravated line.  “Lockdown, we talked about this a hundred times.  We’ve been talking about this since _September_.  I am not staying home.  I promised Jazz…”  At the face he was given, he put more force into his words.  “I _promised_ Jazz that I would go to the Elite Guard Halloween Ball with him.”

“Halloween Ball…” Lockdown snorted bitterly.  “Fancy words for ‘office party everyone’s gonna get drunk and make fools of themselves at.’  You don’t even _like_ parties, Prowl.”

“No, but I promised,” Prowl repeated.  “You know how important that is to me.  Do I ever break my promises?  Lockdown, look at me and answer the question.  Do I _ever_ break my promises?”

The bounty hunter stared at the wall stubbornly, jaw set.  When he received a squeeze on his shoulder as demand for an answer, he grit his teeth and sighed.  “No…” he conceded.  “Doesn’t mean I gotta like it.  Promisin’ to spend our first Halloween together with that goody-goody…”

“Don’t even think of finishing that sentence if you want any tonight,” Prowl huffed, reaching up and taking the other man’s face in his hands.  He finally smiled, drawing his face close enough that the tips of their noses touched.  “Just because I won’t be here Halloween night, that doesn’t mean we can’t ‘put those to good use.’  After all, it’s still four nights until then.”

Lockdown blinked at him then grinned, baring the fangs at his willing victim.  “Good point, kid,” he said, kissing the Japanese man on the lips.  He nipped at the other man’s bottom lip, digging the fingers of one hand into long raven locks, the other hand reaching down and resting flat on the small of Prowl’s back.  The gasp of excitement that escaped the ebony-haired man sent a shockwave of pleasure from his ears down to his cock, feeling it twitch.  “God, kid, you got me trained…” he muttered, pushing Prowl down into the soft cushions of the recliner, climbing on top of him in the same motion.

“You’re one to talk,” the young ninja smirked, running his hands along the studded leather vest his partner wore.  “Only a few months ago I would have never thought I could allow someone to lay me so easily.  You broke me, Lockdown.”  He pushed the vest off the man’s shoulders and ghosted his fingers back up the muscular arms.  “The only reason I can say it without remorse is because you just as easily put me back together.”

“I love that weird, cheesy way you get romantic,” Lockdown chuckled, the breath tickling Prowl’s neck and causing another pleasured shudder.  “ _I_ never thought I’d be livin’ with a guy who can actually say ‘lay’ instead of ‘fuck’ with a straight face, either.”  He bit softly into the flesh under his fangs, running his tongue along the vein he could feel underneath it.  He felt like he could actually bite in and drink from that vein without suspicion, but he knew it would only lead to an angry ninja and a black eye.  He sucked and kissed along the length of skin above the collar of the black cotton shirt, enjoying how it made Prowl’s fingers tighten into his shoulders and hips reflexively grind up into his.  The breath that left the Japanese man’s lips was shuddery but controlled.  As much progress as he’d made in the months since they’d gotten together, he still had a need to control himself as much as possible during sex.  The bounty hunter was patient with him, knowing it had taken a lot of effort simply for him to allow someone to touch him in such a way when they first started seeing each other.  After nearly half a year of partnership, he knew how to draw him out of that shell, though.

Lockdown pushed a hand underneath the cotton of Prowl’s shirt, gently making patterns with his fingers up the flesh of his stomach.  Even though he couldn’t see the other man’s face, face still buried in the tender flesh at the crook of his neck, Lockdown knew Prowl was biting his bottom lip from the way he squirmed.  Not from pleasure, but because Prowl had an exploitable secret.  He was highly ticklish in a few areas, including his stomach.  Sure enough, a restrained snort escaped him, followed by a barely contained giggle.  “L-Lockdown… s-stop…” he gasped, thighs clenching and releasing around the older man’s hips.

“Not until you laugh.”

“You ev… haha… evil man…” Prowl pressed himself forward against the bounty hunter in an attempt to end the tickling by pinning his hand.

“Ah-ah, kid,” Lockdown smiled devilishly, pushing his other hand under Prowl’s shirt and pinning him down at the chest.  He smirked at the hands Prowl was using to cover his own mouth, trying to hide his laughter.  He couldn’t hide the crinkle of his sparkling, dark eyes, though.  This was when Lockdown believed Prowl was most beautiful.  When he was so close to letting go of the stiff, proper behavior he was used to presenting.  When he showed the Prowl that was underneath it all, but was afraid he would disappoint the world if he didn’t hide it.  “You gotta let yourself laugh first, and then I’ll stop.”

Prowl stubbornly shook his head, despite the almost tortured sound he made when Lockdown curled his fingers gently across the light golden skin of his stomach.  He could easily knock Lockdown off of himself; just a single strike and he’d be on the floor.  But he wouldn’t do it because despite his objections Prowl wanted to show him who he was, as he had so many times before.  But he was still afraid.  He knew it was irrational with Lockdown, but the anxiety crept upon him and prevented him from simply letting go.  When he still wouldn’t relent, the hand holding down his chest ran over to one of his more prominent, and more obvious, ticklish spots.  It found the crook under his arm and ghosted over the nerves hiding there.  “Pffft… n-no!  St-st-stop!  D-don’t… hahaha… don’t do th-that!” the Japanese man squirmed and let out a short laugh before catching himself.  At the double-assault his legs curled and knees pushed at the bounty hunter, trying to cease the torture.

“Come on, kid, you know you wanna.  You almost let it out there.  We ain’t fuckin’ ‘til you let go.”

“O-okay!  Ahahaha!  Okay, you win!  I-I give up!  P-p… hahahahahaHA!  Please, st-st…”  The young ninja cut himself off as he finally threw his head back against the back of the recliner and let out a loud laugh, tears forming in his eyes from the force of it.  Lockdown grinned and continued his assault for about ten more seconds, enjoying the full, unadulterated, complete laughing fit.  The hands that had been covering Prowl’s mouth moved to his, trying to push them away.  Finally, he let go and leaned back, watching in satisfaction as Prowl curled up now that he wasn’t being held down, continuing through shockwaves of laughter for a while longer.  When they finally petered off, he opened an eye, wiping the tears from his face with a cotton sleeve.  “A-ass…” he muttered, though he was still smiling.

“Yeah, but I’m your ass,” Lockdown chuckled, leaning over him and reaching for the side of the chair.  With the push of a lever, it reclined into its near-horizontal position.  Prowl yelped in surprise.  “Actually, this is your ass.”  The bounty hunter ran a hand up the ninja’s leg to his behind, giving it a squeeze.  “I’m rather into it, myself.  Or at least, I’m about to be.”

“Pervert.”

“You know it.”

 

()()()()()

 

Three days later, the day before Halloween, Prowl and Jazz went to pick up their costumes.  They made their way to Making Tracks, a design and tailoring boutique in the middle of the Elite District.  They’d already commissioned the costumes for the ball from its owner, fashion mogul Tracks.  The redhead was nowhere in the shop to be seen when they arrived, however.  When the bell on the door rang to indicate the arrival of the Elite Guard members, his voice interrupted the low club music pumping from the speakers in the corners. “I see you there, boys.  Give me half a moment and I’ll be right there.”  Cameras were visible underneath each.  They allowed Tracks to watch the front while he was attending to clients in the back.

“Take your time, Tracks!  No rush!” Jazz called back around the dividing wall that separated them.  He grinned at Prowl.  “I still can’t believe you got him to do our costumes free of charge.”

“It’s one of the charms of moonlighting with Lockdown,” Prowl shrugged, leaning on the counter in the middle of the chic boutique.  There were mannequins set up lining the walls and in front of the windows, showing off some of the bold designer clothes Tracks specialized in making.  Though the prices were far out of the price range of the average citizen of Iacon, his business still flourished because the fortunes he inherited from both his birth parents and his adopted ones allowed him to charge a fraction of what the average designer clothing boutique did.  He called it his ‘contribution to society.’  Allowing anyone with a fair-sized Rainy Day Fund to afford to look fabulous at least once in their lives.  “We did a small favor for Tracks, and when he offered payment Lockdown let me instead exchange it for a free commission for the Halloween party.”

“Wait, you didn’t tell me that part.  You just told me you did a favor for him,” Jazz raised his shades, pushing them to rest on the brim of his hat.  He raised an eyebrow at the other ninja.  “You never said it was a _Lockdown_ job.”  He said the name with barely disguised disdain.  The dark-skinned man was usually much less venomous with people, known for his chill nature and ability to get along with almost anyone.  Due to their mutual attraction to the Japanese man he was currently with, though, he and Lockdown had no plans to go any further than ‘mutual disgust.’

“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d react like that,” Prowl gave a small grin back, leaning an elbow on the counter and placing his chin on the knuckles.  “I also knew that you likely wouldn’t have accepted Lockdown’s half of the commission if you knew it was his.  He wasn’t going to use it, and I didn’t want it going to waste.”

“Coulda given it to, I dunno, Bee or somethin’.  I’m sure he woulda loved it,” Jazz crossed his arms and leaned his back on the counter.  “Get the best sewing needle in the city to make him whatever costume he wanted?  He woulda had a field day.”

“That’s why I didn’t.  The last thing I want is to have to subject Tracks to Bumblebee’s… unique taste in media.”

From the speakers, Tracks’ voice quipped at him, “You say that as if the high class don’t watch anime, darling.”

Instead of responding Prowl uncurled the fingers under his chin and rubbed his face in embarrassment.  “I sometimes forget he can hear us as well as see.”

“I know, creepy isn’t it?” Jazz grinned.

“I heard that, too,” the designer said.

Jazz and Prowl both chuckled.

After a couple more minutes, during which time Jazz and Prowl decided to look through a catalogue sitting on the desk and make quiet conversation of the strange nature of high fashion, Tracks finally emerged from the back.  The well-dressed redhead was trailed by an equally fashionable young woman with green-dyed hair that flipped into an up-do and a high-collared green dress that was very obviously of Tracks’ design from its strange yet attractive nature.  “Thank you so much, Tracks.  Honestly, I don’t understand how it didn’t fit,” the woman said, holding onto a hanger bag containing what was undoubtedly her Halloween costume.  Though she could have been _wearing_ the costume for all they could tell.  Again, high class fashion was completely lost on the two ninjas at the counter.  She had a pleasant Jamaican turn to her accent, offsetting Tracks’ British one.  “I mean, you just made it for me last week.”

“I told you not to eat that extra veggie-burger, Botanica.  Burgers are burgers, no matter what they’re made of.  More than one and you’ll bloat like a blimp and float away,” the fashion designer teased, wiggling his fingers while whisking his hand in an upward motion.

“You jerk,” Botanica laughed, shoving him playfully.  “No matter, it’s all fixed now.  Thank you again, you’re a peach.”  She leaned up on her tip-toes, being at least a foot shorter than him, pulling him down at the same time and kissing his cheek.  “I’ll tell Rattle you said hello.”

“Do me a favor and don’t,” the redhead muttered, waving her out the door.

Botanica didn’t reply, just giggled and waved goodbye as she sashayed down the street.

As soon as she was gone, Tracks turned back to the pair waiting for him, clapping his hands together.  “I’m so sorry for the wait, but she was a bit of a spur-of-the-moment thing.”  He didn’t mention that she was also his best friend, so she took priority.  The implication still hung in the air, but the ninjas ignored it.  “Now, Jazz, Prowl.  If you’ll follow me, I want you to see your costumes then try them on so I can make any adjustments before I can give the all-clear for tomorrow.”  He waved a ‘follow me’ as his designer shoes clicked across the floor into the back.  “After all, I can’t have anyone wearing _anything_ I make if it’s anywhere less than completely perf.”

‘Perf,’ Prowl mouthed at Jazz with a strange look as they followed, causing the other to snort out a restrained laugh.

If Tracks heard, he made no indication.  He stepped quickly up to two mannequins that were covered by a protective cloth each.

“Now, after everything you both showed and told me about what you wanted, I took a lot of time trying to get everything exact.  Jazz, yours was much easier to figure out, if only for its simple elegance,” the designer announced, grasping the sheet over the mannequin to his left.  He slipped it off dramatically, revealing a crisp, perfectly white jacket over a dark grey silk dress shirt.  It was accompanied by a white tie and black pants.  The entire thing was embroidered with intricate red-threaded patterns, which looked almost random if not for the careful instructions Jazz had requested when he asked for it.  “It took me some time to figure out how to make patterns that ‘flow like music,’ but… well, I managed to get some help with that.”  He didn’t elaborate, and with the fashionista it was more often than not better not to ask.

“No, it’s perfect,” Jazz knelt down next to the costume, running his fingers across the embroidery.  “It ebbs, dips, and flows just like a song.  This is solid, Tracks.”

“Don’t forget the most important part of it,” Tracks reached behind him to the table behind him and pulled out a hat box.  Opening revealed a white fedora with a blue feather tucked into the left side of the black band around it.  “You needed just a splash of color, hon, or you were going to melt into the background.”

“You… you’re the best, man.  I mean it, this is awesome.  Best part, I don’t have to worry about dress clothes no more.”

Tracks let out a giggle, pleased by the praise.  “Why don’t you go try these on so I can make any size adjustments in case they’re needed?”  He carefully took the jacket off the mannequin, and then unbuttoned the shirt.  He finally removed the pants from the inanimate man before them, leaving him nude.  Prowl, who waited quietly for his turn, felt the burning need to not look, even though he knew it was only a doll.  “Go, go, shoo,” Tracks waved Jazz into a dressing room sitting next to the large array of monitors showing images of the front and outside of the store.  Thankfully there was none pointing into the dressing room.  That would just be inappropriate.

“That was an incredible outfit you made for him,” Prowl finally spoke, glancing at the other still-covered mannequin.  “But you said his was… easier.  I’m sorry, did I ask for too much?”

Tracks gazed at him for a moment before breaking into a sly grin.  _Uh-oh_.

“Darling, you did indeed ask for too much, but not in the way you think.  I am a designer who demands P-E-R-F-E-C-T-I-O-N,” he said dramatically, spelling out the last word while wagging his finger at him with each letter as if talking to a child.  “Your request was so… outside my realm of understanding, I had to write it down.  I must have read it a million times.”  At the words the redheaded fashionista reached into the pocket of his white designer pants and pulled out a slip of paper.  He unfolded it and read in an imitation of Prowl’s Japanese accent, “Something traditional, reminiscent of my Japanese heritage.  Modest, not too revealing.  Preferably something in black, none-too-noticeable.”  He returned to his normal accent as he flipped the paper behind his back.  “You, my too-prudish darling, were a _nightmare_.  None-too-noticeable?  Who do you _think_ you are talking to?  Fashion is meant to be bold!  To be daring!”

Prowl’s heart and stomach both sank at every word, swallowing as Tracks’ hand raised to the mannequin on his right.  He wanted to jump forward, stop him from showing whatever it was he did.

The designer continued despite the look of dread that spread across his client.  In fact, he almost looked like he was _enjoying_ it.  “You, Prowl, are far too attractive for something so… so blasé!  You need color!  You need _pizzazz!_ ”

“Whoa, Tracks, I don’t think-!” Jazz opened the door to the dressing room exactly in time for his objection to be a moment too late.  Tracks’ hand grasped the cover over the mannequin and flung it off, revealing the costume underneath.  As soon as it was, Jazz shut his mouth in surprise.

Prowl was rooted to the floor, even though he wanted to bolt.  The costume before him was indeed what he asked for.  It was a kimono, in black, with golden floral patterns.  Instead of being modeled after a man’s kimono, Tracks had made the definitely bold decision to use the design of a woman’s much more intricate one.  However, it wasn’t tailored like the traditional one his mother had worn when attending the cultural festivals held by the primarily Japanese American population of Alkaline Village.  Instead it was cut short on the bottom, what would come to maybe the half-way point of his thigh.  A pair of tight, black shorts was underneath, cutting above the mannequin’s knee.  The bottom of the sleeves were traditionally enlarged, though like the bottom half of the costume it was cut short, likely for a modern twist and so it didn’t clash with the short-cut bottom.  He was actually surprised there was a nagajuban underneath, the same gold as the patterns and the obi tied around the garment.  Upon the mannequin’s legs were a pair of black tabi that stopped a couple inches under the knee, and on the floor under was a pair of black and gold leather zori.

“I… I cannot…” Prowl was rendered completely speechless.  On one hand, he couldn’t stop staring at how short, how _indecent_ , the bottom was.  He couldn’t be seen in something like that.  On the other hand…

On the other hand, Tracks went beyond anything he ever expected to make this.  Despite the heavy modernizing modification to it, everything he kept traditional was… was _impeccable_.  He almost asked if he had simply bought one and modified it, but he knew better.  Tracks took too much pride in his work.  They had made the request for their costumes from him in the beginning of September.  This must have taken _weeks_.

“Well, darling, don’t just stand there.  Come take a closer look,” Tracks had waited for the entire thing to sink in, for Prowl’s first indication that he hadn’t gone catatonic on his feet, to beckon him over.

Prowl nodded numbly and approached the costume.  He looked as if he thought it would catch fire if he so much as breathed on it.

“This is… seriously, it’s… whoa,” was all Jazz could manage, joining them around the mannequin.

“I can’t wear this,” Prowl finally managed to find his voice.  He still couldn’t take his eyes off of it, though.  “I can’t…”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tracks placed a hand on his hip and looked at his nails.  “Of course you can.  You asked for a costume, and I gave you a _masterpiece_.”

The Japanese man finally tore his eyes away from the kimono, looking at the prideful fashion designer.  His heart sank even more.  This wasn’t… it wasn’t what he asked for.  And somehow, that made it all the more heartbreaking that he wanted to hide from it.  This was something Tracks had put weeks of his time, thousands of dollars of money, into just for him.  It was worth more than ten times his and Lockdown’s actual hiring rate.  The silk alone would have cost far more than he would ever have asked for in something he would be wearing for… what?  One night?  One party he planned to spend on the sidelines, avoiding socializing with the peers he didn’t even feel comfortable talking to at length on a normal day?

“Why?” he asked.

Tracks glanced up and smiled what seemed to be the first one since they walked in that wasn’t prideful or business-oriented.  “Because, Prowl,” he said, reaching forward and taking Prowl’s face in his hands.  “You are beautiful, and you don’t know that.  It’s time to show the world exactly how much so.”

Prowl’s face turned around three shades of crimson.  “I am not… I don’t… this isn’t me!” he finally managed, gesturing to the garment before him.

“That’s the beauty of it!” Tracks released him and spread his arms wide.  The white scarf with the single red strip down the length he wore fluttered as if trying to emphasize his point for him.  “This is Halloween!  Time to cast off who you are on the outside and show the world your inner self, if only for one day!  Someone like me, I _always_ wear my beauty on the outside, but it’s a time for even me to dig deeper than that.  For _you_ ,” the redhead grasped Prowl’s shoulders this time.  “We’re going to dig deep inside of you and bring out the gorgeous man I know is trapped inside there, just crying to escape.”

The young ninja’s eye visibly twitched, leaning away from the fashionista.  He was now completely convinced he was crazy.  “I don’t… I mean…”

“Nonsense, I don’t want to hear another word associated with ‘no’,” Tracks waved him off, pushing his designer glasses up the bridge of his nose and huffing.  “We’re not doing a fitting of this now, because it would take far too much time to take apart and put back together.  Instead you’ll come back tomorrow, noon sharp.  I’ll help you get dressed and put on the finishing touches during that time.  If you don’t show up, I’ll send someone to find you.”

“I… you’ll _what_?” Prowl managed.

“I will not tolerate it if you think you can escape this costume.  I poured more time, money, and talent into this than anything else I’ve ever made,” the redhead elaborated.  He lowered his glasses so he was looking at the petrified ninja over the top rim of them.  “If you try to avoid me, I will be forced to resort to drastic measures.  You _will_ go to that ball, you _will_ wear this kimono, and you _will_ look fabulous in it!”

Prowl swallowed.  Despite his ninja training, his job as Elite Guard, and his moonlighting as a bounty hunter, he actually felt intimidated by this fashionably wealthy man.  He had no doubt the man had connections that could hunt him down in a five-city radius and drag him back if needed.  “I… understand…” he finally relented, looking at the robes again.  He knew he couldn’t say no to either of the first two demands anyway.  He promised Jazz he’d go to the ball, and he always kept his promises.  And Tracks was kind enough to go far beyond his requests to make something he truly was proud of, something he was completely convinced was perfect for the ninja.  He had to do this.

Tracks’ face brightened, pushing the glasses back up again.  “Fantastic!”  He then turned to Jazz, who had been staring at the kimono on the stand the whole time.  “Now, let’s get that costume of _yours_ finished!”

Jazz jumped a bit, looking down at himself.  He almost forgot he was wearing it.  “Uh, yeah.  Sure, let’s do this…”  As he was led over to the tailoring stand in the corner, he shot a sympathetic, apologetic look at Prowl.  He really felt bad that he had to wear something he would be so uncomfortable in.  However, he wasn’t going to say it out loud, but he _really_ wanted to see Prowl in that kimono.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lockdown and Swindle share some lunch. Meanwhile, Prowl decides to spend the night at Jazz's place.

“Special delivery for one Lockdown!”

The bounty hunter didn’t look up from the engine he was fiddling idly with in his massive muscle car.  He didn’t even acknowledge the black market specialist who entered from the garage’s front door when he dropped a plastic bag on the work desk Prowl usually sat at while doing the finances.

“Hello~o?  Anyone home?” Swindle walked up behind the older man, knocking on the top of his head with a knuckle.

Lockdown growled, finally glancing behind him.  He grabbed the other man’s wrist, pulling him in to see his frustrated expression up close.  “What.  Do.  You.  Want?” he snapped forcefully.

Swindle cringed.  “Ow!  Is that any way to treat someone who brought lunch?” he whined.  “On the desk!  The seasonal specials from ‘Round the World!”

Lockdown glanced behind him at the take-out containers.  The smell of a hand-made meal courtesy of Swindle’s mother, Conquista, finally hit his nose from them.  He grunted and let go, tossing the wrench he held onto one of the nearby benches as he stalked over to the bags.

The Spanish man behind him huffed, rubbing his abused wrist.  “What crawled up your ass and died?  I thought we were supposed to talk Halloween plans with Prowl.”  When the only response he got was the ripping of plastic, he snorted.  “Wait, wait, let me guess,” the black market specialist walked over, removing his violet-lensed sunglasses and tucking them into the pocket of his goldenrod suit jacket.  He reached around the other man and picked up a container and fork.  “Mr. ‘I can get Prowl to change his mind about anything if you give me enough time’ wasn’t able to get him to blow off the EGHB even though he had _weeks_ to do it.”  He popped the top off the food container and sat on the edge of the desk.  The smell of pumpkin, butternut, and an assortment of spices met his nose.

“He made a _promise_ to his favorite nuisance,” Lockdown finally grunted, sitting next to him and relaxing as he opened his container to the sight of pot roast in balsamic and cherry sauce.  Swindle’s mother always knew what he wanted for lunch, even if he didn’t.  “You know the kid, he doesn’t break promises.  Not even to spend a holiday with his partner.  He’d rather tear his fingernails off.”

“Ugh, that goody-two-shoes needs to learn how to let go,” Swindle slurped up a mouthful of the squash-filled pasta.  As he chewed, he looked thoughtful.  “If I were you, I wouldn’t trust him with Jazz.  You know he has feelings for Prowl.  What if he tries something while they’re at the party?”

Lockdown actually snorted at the prospect.  “You’re talkin’ about Jazz.  And Prowl.  They both have Elite Guard morals drilled so deeply into their brains they’d probably shit themselves if you so much as suggested that Prowl could cheat.  Besides, you know the kid.  He doesn’t like anyone touching him.  Even if that music-junkie tries anything Prowl’ll hit him in the gut so fast he’ll probably hurl last week’s breakfast.”

“I am _trying_ to eat here!” his dark-haired companion made a disgusted face.  “But seriously, you’re not just a _little_ tempted to keep an eye on him?”

“Are you actually suggesting that we _go_ to the over-hyped office party?” the bounty hunter barked out a laugh.  “Yeah, that’ll go over well.  We’re not Elite Guard.  Hell, we’re not even just plain _Elite_.  The best we could do is get into the civilian party, and even that’ll be real hard with all the guards _knowing our faces_.”

“Oh, Lockdown,” Swindle grinned, putting his pasta to the side and scooting next to him.  He threw an arm around the older man’s shoulders.  “Ye of such little faith!  Who do you think you’re talking to here?  You think Swindle can’t get into a little Elite Guard shindig?”

“First of all-”

Lockdown’s retort was cut off as the front door opened, Prowl walking in.  He looked ready to simply head up to the apartment when he spotted the two sitting on his desk.  “Oh, I didn’t know you were bringing lunch, Swindle,” he said in surprise.

“Yeah, mom wanted us to get some of the fall menu before she ran out of some of the ingredients,” Swindle reached back to the desk, grabbing the last container and holding it out.  “Here, brought you some apple-cheddar penne.”

“I’m sorry, if I knew I wouldn’t have already eaten with Jazz,” Prowl held up his hands in apology.  “If you’ll excuse me…”  He gave a light bow and hurried up into the apartment without another word.

Lockdown raised an eyebrow, then looked at Swindle who looked completely flabbergasted.  “He didn’t want his lunch?”

“He already ate, Swin.”

“But… but he loves mom’s penne,” the salesman looked at the container he held then set his jaw in a determined scowl.  “That’s it, something’s definitely going on!  We need to investigate this immediately!”

“Swindle, you can’t try and tell me Prowl not eating your mom’s cooking is evidence he’s cheating on me,” Lockdown sighed.  “What’s with you wantin’ to go to this party anyway?”

“Oh, come on.  Don’t tell me you’re not kind of tempted to crash the big Elite Guard party,” Swindle wiggled an eyebrow.  “I know for a fact some of the younger Destrons are going to try it.  After all, they do _every single year_.  There’s always some kid desperate to prove that he’s crafty enough to infiltrate an Elite public event.  And they’ll always get caught and booted, maybe even taken to holding overnight.  But we’re not Destrons.  We’re _neutrals_.  We won’t be getting into the Elite side of the party by that virtue alone, but let me pull some strings and you can put ‘made it into an Elite affair’ onto your resume for new clients.”

“Seriously, you’re kinda weirding me out with this whole-“

Lockdown was once again cut off by the door opening, though this time it was the apartment door.  Prowl was coming back down the stairs with an overnight bag under his arm.

“Hey, where’re you going?” the graying bounty hunter asked.

“I’m staying at Jazz’s place overnight.  We’re going to wake up early, go out for breakfast, get his costume ready, and then I’m going to get mine at Making Tracks.”

Lockdown raised an eyebrow, looking at Swindle.  The Spanish man gave him a meaningful look.  He ignored it and looked back to his partner.  “I thought you were picking it up today.”

Prowl hesitated, looking uncomfortable.  Red flags started going off.  “I… I decided to leave it there.  It has a lot of parts… and it will just be easier to put it on with Tracks’ help.  He’s the one who made it after all.”

“Uh-huh,” Lockdown stood up and walked over, leaning in close to Prowl’s face.  The ninja looked anywhere but at him.  He was hiding something.  And very badly, too.  This was unusual as Prowl, while generally a very honest person, also was an excellent liar when he had to be.  After all, it took a lot of skill to keep the higher ups in the Elite Guard from finding out what he’d been doing on his nights off.  “So… you gonna tell me what’s goin’ on, or am I gonna hafta carry you back into that apartment and lock you up through Halloween?”

Prowl’s face turned from uncomfortable to indignant, especially when he heard Swindle laugh.  “Nothing is going on; I told you what is happening.  You’re not keeping me from the Halloween Ball, now stop trying.”  The ninja pulled his sharp sunglasses down over his dark brown eyes to indicate the conversation was over.  He then turned sharply on his heel and headed towards the front door, slamming it on his way out.

The two neutrals left in the garage stared at the door as if expecting him to suddenly come back.  After an awkward half-minute, Lockdown broke the silence.  “We’re going to that party.  Prowl’s hidin’ something from me.”

“Do you realize how ironic it is that you’re mad he’s hiding something from _you_?” Swindle snorted, scooping out the last of his pasta and shoving it in his mouth.

“Shut up.  I don’t want to hear anything about dishonesty from you of all people,” the bounty hunter snapped.  He stomped over to the desk, picked up the container of penne Prowl left behind, and went to put it in the fridge before it went bad.  After all, even if he didn’t want it now he could guarantee that Prowl would want to reheat it later.  Swindle wasn’t wrong: Prowl _loved_ Conquista’s penne.

 

()()()()()

 

Jazz still felt bad about how much Prowl didn’t want to wear the costume Tracks had made for him.  He felt bad for Prowl because such a thing was so far out of his comfort zone.  He felt bad for Tracks because he spent the time and money making such a beautiful modern kimono for someone who didn’t want it.

He still couldn’t wait to see the younger ninja in it.  The Japanese man was pacing around his living room, brushing his hair anxiously.  It was a nervous habit Jazz had seen before.  Prowl’s long, ebony hair he usually kept pulled back in a ponytail was one of his most gorgeous features.  Tracks wasn’t lying when he said Prowl was beautiful.  Both inside and out, he never ceased to amaze the dark-skinned music enthusiast.  The most astounding part was that he didn’t once disagree that he was attractive.  Jazz had always thought someone like Prowl would be in complete denial of their own beauty, but he seemed entirely aware of it.

Prowl looked like his mother, Turbine.  He had her sharp features, the long face and sunken cheeks, which were unusual for a Japanese family.  According to him, she had Caucasian blood on her paternal grandfather’s side.  The gene was dominant in the shape of his face, though most of his facial features were still distinctly of Asian descent.  His flat nose, almond-shaped eyes, and thin lips were very much inherited from his Japanese genetics.  His eyes in particular were his father, Double-Tap’s.  They were the same shape, same color.  The same sharp, soul-piercing gaze.

 “Hey, you’re gonna brush all the hair out of your head if you keep that up much longer,” Jazz finally spoke up.

Prowl stopped his pacing, glancing at him.  He finally lowered the hair brush, instead running his fingers through the thick, black locks.  “Why do you think people are so fixated on beauty?” he asked.

“Wha?  Uh…”  The question took the older ninja by surprise.  “I… I dunno, honestly.”

“What we look like on the outside doesn’t matter.  Tracks shouldn’t care if I’m…” the Japanese man trailed off, biting his bottom lip.  Even if he could acknowledge it when others called him attractive, he couldn’t say it himself.

“That explains why you’re with Lockdown,” Jazz couldn’t help but tease.

Prowl put his hands on his hips, giving him an indignantly annoyed look.  “Lockdown _is_ attractive!  He has rugged charm to him.  He has a strong jaw, and good muscles.  And even though he’s graying it just makes him look… mature.  Experienced.  Manly…”  He trailed off, a smile spreading across his face as he ran his fingers around the handle of his hairbrush.

“Do you want me to leave the room?”

The Japanese man snapped out of his daze, face turning red.  He huffed.  “I’m not… don’t tease me like that, Jazz, you know I don’t like it.”

“Sorry, sorry,” the dark-skinned ninja held his hands up in apology.  “In all seriousness, I don’t think people consider good looks as important as _you_ think they do.  Good looks didn’t get you through the Elite Guard Academy.  They didn’t get you those killer ninja moves, and they’re not why people respect you as an officer.  You did all that with your own skill and worth.”  He waved the younger ninja towards him, patting the seat next to him on the old leather sofa.  “You don’t even need a sexy kimono or anything to look good, either.  You’d look good in anything.”

Prowl sank down in the seat and covered his face with his hands.  “See?  Even you know it’s… it’s _provocative_.  How can I go to the party wearing that?  I’ll look like a fool.  Worst, I’ll look like a _slutty_ fool.”

“Hey.  _Hey_.”  Jazz reached over and pulled one of Prowl’s hands away from hiding him, looking at him seriously.  He turned him by the chin with his free hand.  “Don’t you dare say stuff like that, Prowl.  A revealing robe ain’t gonna make people think you’re loose.  We’re gonna be in a room full of people who know that.  It’s not about making them think anything different about you.  The whole _day_ is just about wearin’ somethin’ you’d never wear the other 364.”

After a moment of staring at the other man, Prowl managed a small smile.  “Well, it certainly covers that criterion well, doesn’t it?” he managed.  “Thank you, Jazz.  I know I’m being stupid.”

“Yeah, but it’s okay.  I know this is something that just makes you uncomfortable,” the music lover grinned back, leaning forward and bumping his forehead against his raven-haired companion’s.  “And don’t say to Tracks what you did to me.  If he heard you call something he made ‘slutty’ he’d throw a fit.”

Prowl laughed, his mocha eyes staring into Jazz’s chocolate ones for a moment.  He always felt at peace with Jazz.  It was a different kind of comfortable than with Lockdown.  Softer, more accommodating.  The thing that separated the two, the reason he _loved_ Lockdown in such a different way than Jazz, was strangely because of that.  Jazz accepted him despite his flaws, in spite of the withdrawn exterior he showed because of his carefully guarded insecurities.  But Lockdown didn’t just accept those things, he loved them as much as the rest of him.  When he was with Jazz he could be himself without judgement.  With Lockdown, though?  He could let all of himself go without _fear_.  It took months to get there, to be able to lower all of his barriers, but it was the most liberating feeling in the world.

“Alright, ninja, let’s hit the hay.  Tracks is gonna kill us if you don’t arrive at exactly noon tomorrow,” Jazz broke the contact reluctantly.  It was hard getting Prowl to accept any form of physical contact.  The fact that he’d known the younger ninja for years and only managed to get that far, while Lockdown knew him for merely half a year and already managed to get him into bed, was one of the biggest irks he felt.

“I don’t even think that’s an exaggeration.  I’m not afraid to admit that man scares me more than Megatron does at times,” Prowl muttered, standing up and joining him to lay out the bedding on the couch for himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tracks helps Prowl into his costume before the party.

Jazz and Prowl woke up early, doing their morning stretches and training regimen together.  They even took advantage of the rare occasion for a morning sparring session.  When they finished they went out for some breakfast at the café down the street from Jazz’s apartment.  Two stomachs full of eggs, toast and coffee later, they returned and relaxed for a while.  Prowl helped him put candy in a bowl outside of his door for the kids, and they watched some Halloween programming on the television.  Finally, Jazz decided to put his perfectly-tailored costume on before they left again for Making Tracks.

“Alright, is this not the greatest possible thing for me?” the older ninja came out of his room, turning in a circle.  The contrast of the black, white, and gray tones against the red embroidery looked perfect against his dark-brown skin.  “Do I look like a star or what?”

“I would have expected something flashier from Tracks, honestly.  Like… well…” Prowl couldn’t bring himself to mention the costume he was less than an hour from having the fashionista help fit onto him.  “But I’m glad he didn’t, you look better in understated colors.  It makes your personality pop.”  He stood and held out the fedora.

“Things I never thought I’d hear from you,” Jazz smirked, taking the hat and putting it on.  “You’re right, though, I was kind of surprised he actually stuck to just the blacks and whites.  Woulda expected him to go off for some flare or somethin’.”

“Well, what was it he said tonight was about?  ‘Showing your inner self’?  You don’t need any help with that.  Your inner self shines without any help,” the younger ninja smiled back.  After a moment his smile faltered and his gaze downcast.  “Maybe he’s right.  Maybe I do need help showing who I am.  I’m just…”  He swallowed, wrapping his arms around himself.  Admitting this was the hardest thing he had ever done.  “I’m just afraid of what people will think.  I have a… a history of…”

“Of rejection.  I know.”  Jazz took a chance and pulled the younger ninja into his arms, holding him.  He was relieved when he wasn’t pushed away.  “None of us are your dad, Prowl.  We’re not those kids from high school, or the other students at the dojo, either.  At the risk of soundin’ awful, you’re gonna hafta let all that go at some point.  It was years ago.  Not everyone is that cruel.”

Prowl took a breath and pushed out of his arms, leaving an empty feeling there in the air between them.  He shook his head and turned away.  “Honestly, Jazz, if there is anything I know for sure,” he said, walking over and beginning to pull his boots on, “It’s that humans are the worst creatures on this planet.  We should get going.  People will be out in droves right now getting their last-minute Halloween things.  I don’t want to fight the traffic.”

Jazz sighed, deciding not to argue against his paranoia about society.  He just followed as Prowl grabbed his black and gold motorcycle jacket and his overnight bag to put his clothes in when he was changed.  Maybe he’d finally see it their way once Tracks got him into the costume.

 

()()()()()

 

Three hours later, Prowl stood at the three-way mirror in the back of Making Tracks.  The major pieces of his kimono were fitted and secured on him, Tracks currently standing behind him tying the obi as it showed in the instructions on his tablet.  He had already tied, made a frustrated sound, untied, and retied the thing seven times.  The Japanese man was pretty sure he was unconsciously tightening it every time he had to do it again.  Any more and he wouldn’t be able to breathe anymore.  Another reason he was still regretting this.

Jazz had left after dropping him off, saying that since he had a few hours before they’d get everything secured and prepared he had time to meet up with some friends and help them with anything they might have left to do.  First, of course, he let Tracks inspect his costume one more time to make sure everything was flawless.  He also had to approve the dress shoes, which he ‘hmm’ed about for about five minutes before deciding they didn’t take away from the chic-ness of the rest of it.  He also took Jazz’s sunglasses, which he decided to wear with the ensemble as well, and personally cleaned them of any smudges that might be there.  He then shooed the music lover out the door so that he could turn his full attention to the nervous young ninja.

After a few more minutes of cursing, tugging, and knotting, Tracks finally stood up.  “Alright, it finally looks _exactly_ like it does in the pictures.  Thank the tailoring gods.  If this comes undone at the party and you can’t find me, I hope you know someone else who knows how to do a knot that has more than ten steps.  Otherwise you’re on your own.”

“I am sure I can make do…” Prowl muttered.  He was trying hard not to look at his own reflection much longer, at the short cut to the kimono and tight shorts that only covered halfway down his thighs.  On the real deal they actually ended up being shorter than they’d been on the manikin.  He didn’t say it out loud, agreeing with Jazz’s discretions, but he indeed felt… exposed wearing this.  It didn’t help that he suddenly became very aware of Tracks’ hand on his thigh.  He jumped.  “What are you doing?!” he yelped.

Tracks raised an eyebrow.  “Lift your leg.  We’re putting on your tabi.  I don’t want you to move around too much in this right now, not until I’m sure everything is in place, secured, and I’ve put the last finishing touches on the tailoring.  So we’re putting them on while you’re standing, and I’m not letting you bend over in that thing.”  After a moment he smirked deviously.  “Well, not for me, anyway.  I’m sure _someone_ will appreciate you bending over in this.”

Prowl’s face went bright red and he quickly lifted his foot so that Tracks could concentrate on that instead of the tomato that supplanted his head.  It was bad enough that Tracks had seen him in nothing but his underwear, something that the tailor had actually made as well being as it had to be as thin as the fabric of his shorts.  He had to be there to help him put everything on, but unlike his lewd comment he’d just made he was very professional about the rest of the fitting.  The Japanese man could simply count on one hand the amount of people who had seen him in such little clothing since he hit puberty.  It was one of the things he’d been teased for in middle and high school.  He refused to change in the locker rooms with the other boys.  He’d simply never been comfortable letting other people see his body.

“Other foot,” Tracks snapped him out of his thoughts.  Prowl obeyed, picking up his right foot.  This time he actually watched the fashionable man put the almost knee-high sock on him.  The soft black fabric wasn’t scrunched up first, as he was used to doing while putting his own socks on.  Not that he was particularly surprised.  Suggesting putting even the tiniest wrinkle in any fabric would probably put the redhead into hysterics.  Instead he carefully guided the mouth of the tabi over Prowl’s foot and around the heel, stopping to adjust the fabric so that it was aligned before continuing.  The young ninja was feeling grateful for his well-trained balance, as time-consuming as this was.  He didn’t even notice with the first tabi, though he wasn’t surprised from how concentrated Tracks’ attention was on this simple task.  He truly took insane amounts of pride in making sure everything was absolutely flawless.  It made Prowl wonder if there was something in his past that gave him the same neurosis in making sure everything was impeccable that Prowl had in avoiding physical affection.  The tabi was guided up his calf until it was aligned with the other one, right under his knee.  Tracks gently put a hand on the front of Prowl’s knee, the other on the back of his calf, and unbent his leg until his foot was flat on the ground.  Prowl hadn’t even felt him do that with his left leg, but at the same time also didn’t remember lowering his foot on his own.

Once Tracks was done smoothing out the fabric of the tabi until it was perfectly flat against Prowl’s skin, which caused Prowl to blush furiously again at the smoothing motion against his leg, he stood up and took a deep breath.  “Alright, we finally finished the hard part.”

“Thank goodness,” Prowl didn’t even realize he said it out loud until the redhead behind him chuckled.  He just really wanted to be done here and leave.

“Now I’m going to tailor everything to a perfect fit.  When I’m done, _then_ you may sit down at my workstation where I will make you look like the Japanese prince I know you are deep down inside,” the designer said, stepping back and circling the ensemble.  The ninja was about to say something, but he remembered he already agreed to all of this and closed his mouth again.  He might as well just endure.

It took almost half an hour to carefully tuck, tailor, pull, and rethread the kimono into what even Prowl had to admit was the most comfortable fit possible.  He was then guided to the lighted workstation, staring once again at his reflection in the mirror as Tracks picked up a hairbrush, looping several hairbands onto his arm, and placing at least a dozen hairpins between his teeth.  He then got to work, running the brush through Prowl’s soft, ebony hair.

Prowl had honestly never before had his hair done by someone else.  Not since he had been kicked out of his home by his father, anyway.  His mother had loved to play with the hair he refused to have cut shorter than just past his shoulders.  It was part of his dedicated rebellion against his father’s expectations, his unfair demand that the teenager give up the life he wished for to continue on the family business.  He didn’t care about how traditional it was for a country he’d never visited himself.  He was born in Alkaline.  He was fluent in Japanese, knew the culture, and could name every region and most cities.  But he also primarily spoke English, could function far better in an American society, and knew the states and capitals of the USA just as easily.

His hair was pulled back into what seemed to be his usual ponytail at first, but it was far higher on his head than usual.  Another hairband tied the tail into a loop.  The hairpins went to work finding and securing any loose hairs and holding the shape of the looped tail.  It was so much simpler than he was expecting, Prowl was going to say something until Tracks spoke first.  “Alright, now that the easy part is done…”  He reached around Prowl to a box on the table he hadn’t even noticed.  It was just a simple red box.  There wasn’t really anything special about it.  At least, not until Tracks opened it.

The Japanese man’s breath was pulled right out of his lungs by the sight of gleaming gold and glittering jewels inside.  “That… those aren’t real are they?” he asked.

“Don’t be silly, darling,” Tracks snorted.  Prowl relaxed at the words.  Until the next ones, at least.  “Of course they are.  What kind of designer would I be if I relied on cheap, painted metals and fake jewels?  One wrong camera flash and I would be a laughing stock.”

“They aren’t… for me, are they?”

“Don’t worry; I won’t be so cruel as to ask you to _keep_ them.  Well, not both of them anyway.  I would like at least one back.  They were extremely expensive.  Uncle Knock Out would have a conniption if he heard how much I just spent on someone I’m not even sleeping with,” the redhead said casually, pulling out a gleaming gold hairpin.  It was shaped like three large chrysanthemum blooms, a glittering red ruby set in the center of each.  He folded the looped tail of Prowl’s hair up and pinned it there with the ornament.

“I didn’t know you did hair as well as clothes,” Prowl said.  He tried not to move as Tracks reached for the next accessory.  It was a long golden pin with a blue sapphire set on the end of it.

“I don’t.  Not typically, anyway.  If you ask me to actually cut hair, I cannot promise that you won’t come out with half an ear and several bald spots,” the fashion designer replied, gently nudging the pin under the one he already had in place.  “Ask me to accessorize, though?  I can embellish _anything_.  I’d throw jewels on a minivan if you asked me to.”  Several more of the basic, non-expensive hairpins later and he had everything in place and secured.  “Alright, just one more step.”  He made a turning motion with his hand in the mirror.  Prowl complied.  Tracks picked up a makeup kit from next to the table.  “Time to give you a little glam.”

Prowl swallowed hard.  “I thought this was about showing my… _inner_ self.  Not covering it with paint.”

“Sometimes, hon, you’ve got to give it a little push out the door,” the redhead winked.  “Besides, it won’t be a proper gender-role-blurring modernization of traditional Japanese costuming if you don’t have a little makeup.”  At the look he received he sighed.  “Don’t worry; I’m not going to slather white face paint all over you.  It’s not going to be _that_ traditional.”

Prowl took a deep breath and nodded.  If he got this far, he might as well finish it off.  “Do it.  Just… get it over with.”

 

()()()()()

 

Jazz returned to the fashion boutique at 5pm.  The EGHB guest list would start pouring in at 6, and he knew that Tracks wouldn’t want to be late, still having to pull together his own costume.  He also knew Prowl didn’t want to be in front of the flashing cameras and people crowding around to get a look at the celebrities.

It was an odd phenomenon in their area.  In most parts of the country, in the world even, it was movie stars and musical sensations that were the celebrities.  Not that they didn’t have plenty of those, but in Iacon the most celebrated were the Elite.  Not just the glamorously wealthy and those recognizable from the big screens.  The Elite were the most prestigious of the prestige.  Scientists, political leaders, public icons of equality and freedom.  It contained some of the most brilliant people in the country.  During large events held by the Elite Guard, people clamored to see and be near the most important people in the city.  The Elite Guard Halloween Ball was split into two parties itself.  While the common folk would be allowed to stand on the outskirts of the red carpet for photos, autographs, and the off chance they might even get to speak to someone walking down it, they weren’t allowed into the same celebration.  The Elite and Elite Guard had the Grand Ballroom of the largest hotel in Iacon City, the Palms Grayson Hotel.  The second ballroom, which was not as large but still nothing to sneeze at, went to the citizens who came to enjoy the festivities.  The common folk didn’t seem to be offended by it, but there was always some kind of commotion once an hour of someone trying to sneak into the bigger half of the party.

“Hey, Tracks, Prowl!  I’m back, you ready?” he called.  He didn’t want to surprise them in case something had gone wrong and Prowl was for some reason still not decent.

“Good timing, Jazz, we just finished,” Tracks’ voice greeted him from the speakers.  “Why don’t you come back and see?”

“Sure, comin’,” the music enthusiast shrugged, walking back to the separator.  And then he remembered what Prowl would be wearing.  His heart almost leapt into his throat, anticipating what it would look like on the gorgeous Japanese man.  There was almost no way that it actually looked as sexy as he imagined it.

One look and this time his heart nearly choked him to death, lodging itself in and refusing to budge.  It was… _far_ better than he’d even imagined.  The black and gold kimono fit Prowl’s form perfectly, hugging him in all the right places.  And he was right, that cut hem on the bottom was _incredibly_ provocative.  Something he’d never thought he’d ever see the younger ninja in.  The most amazing thing, though, was the work Tracks had done on his face.  Careful makeup work made his thin lips look full, red, and pouted.  His eyes were decorated with black liner, which drew out the corners of his eyes into points, blue paint in a winged pattern adorning just above that.  If his cheeks were given color through makeup it was impossible to tell, because his own uncomfortable blush made him look far more desirable than any powder ever could.

“Whoa…” was all he could manage.

“I… I know… I look-“

“Gorgeous,” Jazz cut him off before Prowl could put himself down.  And he meant it.  “Prowl, you look… I mean, just _wow_.  Tracks, you’re a wonder.”

“I know,” the fashionista said casually, though they could hear the fluttering of his ego underneath it.  “I’d love to stand here and listen to how great I am, and how beautiful this plum dumpling is, but I have to get ready for the party myself.”  He waved them towards the door.  “Go, shoo.  Get to the hotel.  Wow people.”

Prowl reluctantly followed the instructions, tailing Jazz as the older ninja headed for the door.  As soon as they were on the street, Tracks straightening the ‘Closed for Halloween’ sign on his door, he stopped.  “Did he just call me a plum dumpling?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The EGHB starts. Prowl and Jazz spend some time watching the celebrities flood in before joining Team Optimus at the party.

The one great thing about getting to Elite Guard events early was that the press wasn’t there yet.  Prowl didn’t like being in the spotlight, so dodging the paparazzi was a favorite pastime of his.  There were some vans and news crews getting set up outside of the large hotel, but they weren’t paying attention to people arriving yet.  Most people going inside at this point were there to help with the last minute preparations for the party, anyway.  Prowl and Jazz were on the list of people who were doing so as well.

“I can’t believe I’m going in there dressed like this,” Prowl whispered as they walked through the lobby towards the main ballroom.  They flashed their Elite Guard badges at the security standing outside the doors.

“Prowl, stop.  You look… absolutely amazing.  Tracks does the best work in the city.  You’ll blow everyone away,” Jazz assured him for what felt like the fifty-thousandth time.  Even _his_ seemingly endless patience was being tested by Prowl’s social anxiety.  He already practically had to drag him out of the car, which was extremely hard while trying not to destroy the work done on his costume.

“I’m afraid I will for all the wrong reasons.”

The dark-skinned man rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, pushing Prowl through the door into the ballroom.  Most of the people weren’t in costume yet, not wanting to risk damaging them.  There were men and women setting up the last of the horrifyingly haunting decorations, adjusting the snack tables while the caterers set them up, and making sure the technical issues were all taken care of.  Blaster was doing maintenance on the massive DJ booth in the corner, picking up the microphone for sound checks periodically.  There was a stage set up next to it with an empty microphone stand.  It was likely for the one he was holding while he did the checks.  Bulkhead was kneeling next to the equally large speakers, adjusting them as they tested.  While he was more of a mechanic than a technician, he was getting lessons on that as well to help get him further in the Elite Guard.  Helping adjust the sound system for a party seemed like good practical application for testing his progress.

“Hey, Jazz!”

They looked to the corner where Bumblebee was waving at them.  The dark-skinned, blond teenager was standing with the other members of Optimus Prime’s team, the leader himself going over a clipboard.

“Come on,” Jazz took Prowl’s arm and dragged him over, knowing he’d never willingly go near his teammates looking like he did.  “Hey, guys!”

“Oh, hey, Jazz,” Optimus looked up, smiling.  “Hey, Pro… ah… uh…”  The brunette Prime trailed off, eyes going the size of saucers.  The clipboard slipped out of his fingers, hitting the ground with a clatter.

“Prowl?!” Bumblebee finally managed, cheerful expression turning shocked.  “Holy shit!”

“Kid!  Language!” Ratchet snapped, picking up the clipboard and smacking the top of the teenager’s head with it.

“Ow!  Geez, Ratchet!  Can you blame me?” the blond rubbed his head, glaring at the aging doctor.  “Are you even _looking_ at him?  I mean… I didn’t even realize that was Prowl!”  He looked back to the Japanese man, who was trying his best to be invisible even though he knew it was impossible now.  “I thought Jazz brought a hot date until Prime said something!”

“Speaking of,” Ratchet turned to their leader, smacking him in the arm this time with the board.  “Stop starin’ at the kid!  Can’t you see you’re embarrassing him?”

That seemed to snap Optimus out of his trance-like state.  His face was still beet-red, but at least he was now blinking.  “Ah, uh, sorry about that, Prowl,” he said, finally looking at the ground instead.  He scratched the back of his head while clearing his throat uncomfortably.  “That’s… um… it’s a nice costume you have.  I’m surprised you guys are already in them.”  He seized the clipboard from Ratchet before he could abuse anyone else with it.

“I know, but his took a few hours for Tracks to get the whole thing on.  It’s got about half-a-million pieces to it,” the music enthusiast grinned.

“Tracks?!” Bumblebee’s jaw dropped.  “Your costume was made by _Tracks_?  No wonder you look so weirdly sexy.”

Prowl made a sound that came out somewhere between mortification and a strained whine.  He covered his face with a hand, the other crossed uneasily around his front.  He was quite hoping the large cuff of his kimono sleeve would hide… everything, really.

“Tracks, huh?” Optimus quickly segued into a subject that didn’t put Prowl at the center.  He could tell he was becoming more and more uncomfortable as the conversation went on.  “Makes sense.  I remember when we were at the academy.  He and Elita were always looking at those high fashion magazines together.  He put together most of our clothes we wore to events.”  By ‘our,’ he meant himself (at the time Orion), Sentinel, Elita, Tracks, and Rodimus (known at the time as Hot Rod).  “He always did have a flare for the… uh… dramatic.  I’ll take it he was getting ready for the party when you left?”

“Yeah, closed up shop and kicked us out,” Jazz nodded.  “You know him; he loves to make an entrance.  I’d bet money he’ll show up at the height of when the paparazzi’s snappin’ pictures.  You guys gonna get in on the photo-ops?”

Bumblebee looked hopeful, but was shot down by Optimus.  “No, we brought our costumes.  We’ll probably get ready right before and skip the paparazzi.  Not that we’re particularly recognizable, anyway.  Rodimus and Sentinel always felt more comfortable in the limelight.”

“Aww, but I wanna get in a magazine!” the blond teenager whined, pouting.

“The boss said ‘no,’ and you’re gonna listen,” Ratchet commanded.  “I don’t wanna catch you tryin’ to sneak out to photo-crumb some of the Elite, either!”

“Photo- _bomb_ ,” Bumblebee corrected haughtily.  “Honestly, how is the English language so hard for you?”

“That ain’t English, kid, that’s young slang that I’m apparently not ‘hip’ enough to know.”

Jazz laughed, glancing to his left when he heard even Prowl give a light chuckle.  He sighed in relief.  He seemed to be finally relaxing.  Maybe he could do this after all.

 

()()()()()

 

An hour later the Elite and Elite Guard were pouring into the building like a stream of glittering, well-dressed tropical fish.  Prowl and Jazz hung by the door, out of sight of the cameras.  They’d been asked to keep an eye out during the initial chaos for anyone who looked out of place.  After all, as trained ninjas they could easily stay out of sight, and as Elite Guard they knew how to spot anyone acting suspiciously.

Camera flashes filled the air, threatening to blind the unsuspecting.  Dozens of voices filled the entrance as cameramen and interviewers tried to coax the glamorous stars of the Elite District into at least turning their way for a shot.

“I don’t understand how anyone can like being the center of attention like this,” Prowl said, watching as Rosanna walked through.  The popstar waved and blew kisses to the cameras, turning in her 1980s style costume.  Her fluffed pink hair filled with extensions, painted face, and shimmering, metallic-looking clothes could only be described as ‘truly outrageous.’

“That’s because not everyone is allergic to it like you,” Jazz grinned.

Prowl sniffed in annoyance.  “I’m not.  I am a highly skilled ninja, though.  Being detected would go against everything I’m trained for.”

“That, and you’d rather be stabbed in the neck with a poison needle than let someone know that you’re an attractive man.”

The Japanese man flinched, looking at the ground.  “Can we talk about something else now, please?” he muttered, self-consciously tugging the bottom hem of his kimono down.

“I’d stop doing that before you ruin your costume.  Especially since I see Tracks coming,” his dark-skinned partner said, nodding towards the entrance.  Prowl looked up quickly, looking over the sea of heads.  He admitted curiosity.  If this outfit was what he considered modest, what in the world did the redhead consider _properly_ loud?

His answer came with a rush of flashing cameras.  Jewel-studded, sheer-blue fabric swirled and fluttered as heeled boots clicked down the red carpet.  While it wasn’t revealing in the short-cut way that Prowl’s kimono was, it was indeed left far less to the imagination.  Tracks’ black pants and midriff-baring top were skin-tight against his body.  Until seeing him in something so revealing, it was easy to forget that the flamboyantly beautiful man had athletic muscles underneath it all.  His top had a low collar and short sleeves.  The most candid covering he had was the sheer, shimmering blue fabric that was cut, tailored, and designed into what could only be described as a masculine cross between a dressing gown and formal jacket.  It attached at the front above his naval by an emerald-encrusted golden broach, but then flowed backwards as if the wind carried it, not covering the front of his legs or his chest at all.  It opened at the shoulders before turning to long, elegant sleeves that covered his whole arms.  The bottom tapered downwards until it nearly touched the ground.  His heeled black, leather boots went to his knees, silver buckles shining in the flashing lights.  They were joined by the gleam of a silver and gold headdress and necklace, both encrusted with sapphires and emeralds.  His ears sparkled with delicately chained earrings.  His short, red curls were fluffed and styled elegantly, his glasses polished and cleaned to a gleam.

“…I don’t even know what I was expecting,” Prowl sighed.  “How can he stand there looking like that and not feel at least a little ashamed?”

“Because there’s nothing to be ashamed about.  He’s proud of how gorgeous he is, and he’ll let the entire world know it if he can,” Jazz answered.

“But that’s not why he should be admired!  He is both smart and athletic.  Shouldn’t that be far more valuable to people?”

“Of course people should value him for that, and they do.  But that doesn’t mean they should ignore his good looks.  Why should someone be expected to have only one or the other?”

Prowl made a frustrated sound.  He couldn’t understand people’s fixation with beauty.  Yes, he was attractive himself.  But he didn’t want people to see him for that.  He wanted people to see him for being an accomplished student of ninjitsu, and a dedicated member of the Elite Guard.  He’d even rather they look at him for being a great partner to an even better bounty hunter.

Tracks was joined shortly by Botanica and they finally got to see her costume.  The dark-skinned beauty was dressed in a glittering sea green gown, glistening and shining in the camera light.  It, like Tracks’ robe, was cut low in the chest, baring her cleavage.  It was also high on the skirt, stopping just short of indecent and showing off her long, shapely legs.  It was, unlike his robe, thankfully opaque, thus not completely indecent.  The long sleeves came to a point at her middle finger, secured there by a ring on each one.  Upon her feet were a pair of spiked blue heels with sheer black stockings that stopped at her knees.  Also like Tracks, she wore a headdress, necklace, and earrings of gold and silver with emeralds and sapphires gleaming in them.

“I’ll be… they wore matching costumes,” Jazz laughed.

“That’s strangely sweet,” Prowl had to admit.  “They really are best friends, aren’t they?”

“Yeah.  S.P. says when they were in the Academy, Tracks would send Botanica letters almost every day even though the Academy’s only a 20 minute ride from the Elite District.  He’d get all overdramatic whenever he talked about how much he missed her.  Anyone who didn’t realize he has a thing for men thought they had a thing goin’ on.”

They watched Tracks and Botanica stride down the red carpet together, heads held high.  They seemed to simply ignore the cameras, but it was a common tactic among the more attention-happy people of the Elite.  The more nonchalant about the situation they looked, the harder the camera-people had to work to get the best possible shots.

Prowl felt himself deflate at least somewhat watching them.  They looked so natural, so fluid in their element.  How could something that made them happy be as bad as he stubbornly perceived it?  While the Jamaican woman wasn’t anywhere near as prideful of her looks as her red-headed companion, that wasn’t surprising.  After all, not many people were.  From what they heard of Tracks’ missing uncle, it was apparently hereditary.

“Hey, isn’t that the Director of Science?”

Jazz’s words snapped Prowl out of his thoughts.  He looked to the next group walking towards them.  He almost expressed surprise that Perceptor was indeed at the front of it.  Then he remembered that the cool-headed scientist was a member of the Elite.  It was easy to forget, since he spent most of his time holed up in a messy Ministry of Science office, ignoring the largest bulk of humanity in favor of his machines and experiments.  The Korean scientist had apparently decided to do something traditional to his native culture as well.  He dressed in a modified hanbok, with a modern twist.  It was in red, green, and black, colors that had always complimented him well.  Unlike Prowl’s kimono, however, his was still modest and concealing.  This wasn’t completely surprising as Perceptor was nowhere near as young as the ninja, though he had still aged well.  Unsurprisingly, the Director of Science ignored the paparazzi as he made his way towards the entrance.  If it weren’t for his pride, something people were often amazed he had in spades, he would have bypassed them completely.

Trailing him were several of the members of the Ministry of Science.  Glyph, the “Honey-Haired Honey” of the Ministry as she was known, looked more excited than they’d ever seen someone.  It made sense, as this was her first time being in the spotlight since her promotion as their head of the Archaeological Research Department.  She certainly dressed for the occasion, her Egyptian queen outfit of brilliant green and sparkling gold catching the eyes and cameras.  The headdress almost blended in with her dark-blond hair.  Her bright blue eyes gave her the angelic appearance she was most known for, waving excitedly to the cameras.

“I wonder why Wheeljack isn’t in there,” Prowl pondered.

“Blurr says most of the Science dudes aren’t swingin’ tonight.  Only the top-dogs and the Elite.  Don’t really blame ’em; most of them aren’t really partiers.  Pretty sure if it wasn’t for obligation Perce would’ve gladly stayed behind, too.”

“Maybe I should have joined the Ministry of Science if it meant I could opt out of these kinds of events,” the Japanese man smiled dryly.

After the scientists came a steady stream of more members of the Elite.  Most of them were of the typical celebrity variety at this point.  Movie and television stars, musicians, artists.

“I was going to say how surprised I was at how many famous people we have here.  Then I remembered we have an entire district full of them,” Prowl joked.

Jazz let out a short laugh.  “I know, right?  I think it’s because most of them don’t make a huge deal out of bein’ Elite.  We actually work alongside a good slice of the population of celebrities here.”

“You’d barely believe most of them were Elite at all when not looking at the mansions and fancy wardrobes,” Prowl agreed.

Jazz was going to answer when a commotion started amongst the camera crews.  They were nearly blinded by how rapidly they flashed, even though they weren’t in the middle of it.  It took them a moment to squint through the circus of lights before they could see who caused the fuss.

Walking down the red carpet was Ultra Magnus.  He wasn’t wearing a costume.  He never did.  He didn’t believe in being anyone but himself.  Instead he wore the Elite Guard uniform from his time fighting in the Great War as a young man.  The blue and white uniform was still quite fitting on him, even as his brunette hair had long turned grey and his face began to wrinkle with age.  He still struck an imposing figure.  Tall, straight, and powerful.  All too fitting for the man who maintained his position as Magnus.

With him was Sentinel Prime and the “Jettwins,” Jetfire and Jetstorm.  The Prime was outfitted in a uniform much like the Magnus’s, his broad chest and muscular arms cutting a striking figure underneath the blue and yellow fabric.  His best accessory, as usual, was his self-assured grin.  He was likely completely pleased with himself that he had managed to have one of the old Elite Guard uniforms that were discontinued twenty years previous completely recreated.  He ran a hand through his perfectly styled blond hair.  He matched Ultra Magnus in everything but color scheme and dignity.

The twins milked the cameras for all they were worth, posing and posturing for the world.  They wore matching costumes of the jet pilots of old.  Aviator jackets and knee-high boots for each, blue and gold for Jetstorm, orange and white for Jetfire.  They wore differing accessories, though.  Jetfire wore his usual aviator goggles upon his rust-colored hair, his almost golden-brown eyes twinkling in the gleam of the camera flashes.  His ebony-haired brother wore a pair of old aviator sunglasses over his blue eyes.

Prowl smiled fondly watching them.  “Bumblebee will be jealous when he hears the twins made it on the red carpet when Optimus wouldn’t let him on.”

“Hey, remember,” Jazz leaned in towards him, grinning.  “If I didn’t have as much respect for your aversion to attention as I do, I’d be out there with them.”

“You can still join them if you want.  Though I don’t think you’ll quite match them looking like a rock star instead of a soldier,” the Japanese man teased.

“Nah,” the other ninja laughed.  “I think I’ll stay here.  I have a feeling Sent’s got a few words for the twins with how they’re workin’ the red carpet.  They’re stealin’ the limelight from him.”

Prowl joined him in his laughter, glancing back at the carpet as the four on it managed to make it to the end.  Instead of going inside like the others however, they stopped and Ultra Magnus turned around.  He held up a hand and the camera flashes calmed, though they didn’t cease altogether.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the press, I thank you for your attendance today,” the Magnus’s commanding voice carried over the plaza.  “Halloween is a time for celebration, to enjoy the night with friends and family.  For us as adults to enjoy a night without worry of what tomorrow may hold.  And for children to gather sweets from their neighbors, and feast upon them until they inevitably regret it.”  There was laughter and he waited a moment.  When they stopped, he finished.  “I hope that everyone, be they the Elite and Guard who have assembled for our celebration, those civilians who are gathering in the second ballroom here, those at parties of their own, or even those who are staying in their homes across the country and world, have a safe and Happy Halloween.”  He saluted to the cameras.  “’Til all are one!”

All gathered, be they Elite Guard, civilian, or press, chorused back, “’Til all are one!”

Satisfied, Ultra Magnus turned and headed inside, Sentinel and the twins following.

“That’s our cue,” Jazz nodded inside as well.  “The only cats that’ll be comin’ in at this point will be the fashionably late and the guys with a Press Pass.  The guards can take care of those guys.  They just needed us for the crazy part of the arrivals.”

Prowl nodded to him in understanding and pushed away from the wall he’d been leaning against.  They took the long way around to the ballroom, still avoiding the paparazzi with Press Passes allowing them as far as the lobby.  VIP Press Passes got a cameraman inside of the actual Elite Guard Halloween Ball, but that was reserved for only the most reputable news sources.  The Iacon Times and PoIM (Persons of Interest Magazine) were the most prominent two in the city.  Iacon Times dealt mostly in news involving the constant battle against the Destron terrorists and wanted to do a piece on how the Elite Guard were keeping morale up.  PoIM was the source for the hottest news among the Elite and covered every major event they attended.  Mostly they did articles on the most recent major exploits, but occasionally even they liked to get into the juicy gossip and latest fashion statements.

As Jazz and Prowl slid back into the ballroom they saw a scene completely different from before.  The lights were dimmed, low enough to change the atmosphere but not so much that the press couldn’t take decent photos.  The Elite were enjoying showing off their costumes.  The sound of the mic check was gone, instead replaced by pumping techno music.  Lockdown had been right on one count.  Calling this event a “ball” was a vast exaggeration.  While it did get its roots originally as a formal affair, with ballroom dancing and a full orchestra to go with it, the times and its attendees both evolved.  A younger generation of Elite eventually began out-populating the older, more traditional members of high society.  And with them came the need for more than just a stuffy event where they could mingle and socialize.  They demanded fun.

“Jazz!  Prowl!  Over here!”

Speaking of youthful enthusiasm, Bumblebee’s voice penetrated the deafeningly loud music.  The two ninjas made their way through the crowd of colorfully dressed men and women until they finally managed to reach Team Optimus.  They had changed into their costumes after finishing with the preparations.

“How was watch duty?” Optimus asked.  He wore a fire fighter’s uniform in blue and red, homage to his mother who had been one.  She was the inspiration for him to strive towards being a hero.  “Spot anyone suspicious?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean anything,” Prowl answered.  “There are bound to be a few party crashers.  Destrons, most likely.  Though I wouldn’t put it past the general public to try and get in.”

“Could you blame ‘em?” Jazz grinned.  “This is the hottest party of the year!  Not even our New Year party is this huge!”  He readjusted his fedora, making sure the feather hadn’t fallen out yet.  He didn’t want to have to explain a damaged costume to Tracks this early in the night.

“Tell me about it!” Bumblebee grinned.  “This makes all the torture I went through in Loudmouth Prime’s training worth it!”

Prowl looked the teenager’s black school uniform with gold trim up and down.  It looked like it came from a fancy private school, complete with a gold-embroidered emblem reading ‘V.A.’ on the pocket.  His blond hair was slicked back for once, and his usually blue eyes were covered with red contacts.  “And what are you supposed to be?” he finally asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Duh!” came the answer from behind him.  The ninjas turned around and found Sari Sumdac, Bumblebee’s best friend, standing there.  The adopted daughter of one of the most prominent businessmen in the city, Isaac Sumdac, Sari was as much a ball of energy as the blond.  She was wearing a matching girl’s uniform with the same emblem on the front, though her uniform was white and gold instead of black.  She even had the same red contacts in her brown eyes.  Her usual red pigtails were gone, instead wearing her hair down.  She had a pair of long, black stockings that stopped just under the far-too-short-for-a-15-year-old’s pleated skirt.  “We’re students at Vampire Academy!”

“Vampire what?” Jazz asked, laughing.

“It’s from one of those animoos those kids are always glued in front of,” Ratchet grumbled.  He was dressed in a crisp red and white suit and glasses.  Though most people would pass it off as a lazy attempt at not needing a costume, Team Optimus recognized it almost immediately as being his favorite character from a crime drama they sometimes sat and watched together.  The crotchety, overly-serious police chief made him laugh every time, one of the few times he did so in earnest.

“ _Anime!_ ” Bumblebee huffed as Sari walked over to stand next to him.  “And it is not.  It’s from the MMORPG _Heartstoppers_.  Which you’d know if you ever bothered to get caught up on pop culture, you geezer.”  Both he and his red haired companion bared their fangs with a hiss to emphasize.

“What is it with people and vampires this year?” Prowl sighed.  When Jazz gave him a questioning look, he found himself having to hide a blush.  “Never mind, it’s not important.  So, Bulkhead, what are you?” he quickly changed the subject.

“I’m a zombie,” the mechanic said proudly.  He certainly looked the part, with his torn and ‘bloodied’ clothes.  His sandy-blond hair was completely mussed up and sticking out at odd angles.  Some well-applied gashes were strewn across his face and any part of his skin that was exposed by the tears.  Fake blood was liberally thrown over him to complete the effect.  “Bumblebee and Sari helped me get it ready.  You should’a seen their clothes when they were done splashing me with blood.  They looked like they fell in a pool of red paint or something.  Ratchet helped with the cuts so they’d look real, too.”

The old medic coughed to hide his embarrassment.  “They talked me into it.  I just didn’t want them to come out here lookin’ like they didn’t know what they were doing.”

“Yeah, suuuuuure,” Sari teased.  “Can’t let anyone know you actually did something nice, huh?”

“I wouldn’t touch any of the Elites until that dries,” Jazz advised.  “I know more than a few here that would throw a fit if you stained their costumes.”

“Yeah, good idea,” the mechanic said, suddenly looking not-so-proud.  “I didn’t really think of that.”

“It’s still a great costume, Bulkhead,” Optimus assured him, putting a hand on his shoulder.  He pulled it back red with fake blood, though.  “Uh… Jazz is right, though.  Maybe stay off the dance floor for a little while.”  He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his hand off.

Prowl chuckled.  He was starting to feel more relaxed.  He didn’t feel like anyone was paying him any more attention than was necessary.  Perhaps Jazz was right.  It was silly to think that in a crowd this large he would be singled out.  After all, some people were wearing things even more revealing than him.  Not far from them Minerva was wearing a sexy nurse costume he was sure was probably illegal to wear in public in most cities.  Across the room in Rodimus Prime’s group, the perfectionist himself dressed as a modernized Robin Hood, Brawn was dressed in literally nothing but a loincloth for his barbarian costume.  There could only be hope that he was wearing something under it, and a wish that they wouldn’t have to find out.

“There you are!”

Prowl cringed at the sound of Tracks’ voice.  Well, it was nice while it lasted to not be the center of attention.  The fashion mogul was approaching quickly, followed by Botanica and a black haired man the ninja wasn’t familiar with.  The newcomer was wearing a blue and white tuxedo with a cape and cane, a white mask adorning the top half of his face.  Blue feathers jutted from the corners of the mask.

“My goodness, Tracks, you weren’t kidding,” the masked stranger whistled, looking Prowl over.  He didn’t seem to notice the Japanese man fighting the urge to shrink away at the gaze.  “This is most definitely your magnum opus.  I’ve rarely seen finer craftsmanship.”

Prowl was relieved to realize he was ogling the outfit, not him.  It at least made it a little more bearable.

“Isn’t it?” the redhead asked excitedly.  The gold adorning him glimmered as he pulled Prowl towards them and away from the safety of his teammates.  He turned the befuddled ninja carefully, showing off the ensemble in its entirety.  Once he got to the back, he stopped it.  “Wait!” he shouted.  “You’ve been playing with the bottom, haven’t you?”

“Um…” was all Prowl managed to get out.

“Honestly, is it so much to ask for people to keep their costumes intact for the first couple hours of the party?” Tracks huffed.  He bent down and began fiddling with the fit of Prowl’s obi.

“Is it wrong that I’m a bit jealous?” Botanica asked in good humor.  “Don’t get me wrong, I love everything Tracks has ever made me.  He’s never spent that much time or money on anything before, though.  Why he had to do it for someone who isn’t even in his circle of friends, I can only guess.”

“Aww, don’t be that way, Toots,” a voice emerged from behind her.  Team Optimus, who had been amusedly watching their flustered ninja try and hold completely still while Tracks worked, realized that there had been a fourth person with the approaching group.  Rattletrap, Botanica’s boyfriend, was standing behind her.  He was wearing a hooded sweater that had a pair of mouse ears sewn to the top and a tail hanging behind him, pinned to the back.  That seemed to be the extent of the street rat’s costume.  “Ya look way better than any of the snobby stuck-ups here.  ‘Sides, he _could_ be in Trixie’s circle for all we know.  He seems to change friends like ya change shoes.”

“Do _not_ call me that!” Tracks snapped, standing back up.  “And what are you even doing here, Rat?  I don’t remember street trash being on the guest list.”

“I’m Toots’ date, don’t’cha know?  I don’t hafta be on the list if she can vouch fer me,” Rattletrap said, staring the Elite man down.

“You _invited_ him, Botanica?” Tracks asked in horror.  “Honestly, what were you thinking?”

“I was thinking he’s my boyfriend and I can do whatever I want, Tracks,” the Jamaican botanist snapped, crossing her arms.  The air of companionship between the two seemed to run cold instantly, as if someone opened a door during a snowstorm.  “I don’t need your permission to invite Rattle to a party.  And I’d thank you to at least try and be nice to him while I’m standing _right here_.”

“Be _nice_ to him?  Botanica, he’s a thief and a con artist!  He shouldn’t just not be here with _you_ , he shouldn’t be here at all!  Who knows what he’s planning?”

“Ouch, that hurts, Trixie.  Right through the ol’ heart, y’know?” Rattletrap made a dramatic show of grabbing his chest as if in pain.  “I thought we had somethin’ special, man.  Guess I just don’t have that certain somethin’ ya need ta get into yer gold-plated good graces.  Like _money_.  If it weren’t for Toots, I’d swear all ya Elite snobs were th’ same.”

“The only thing _we_ have is an intense need for me to kick your filthy posterior,” Tracks hissed angrily, stepping towards the street rat.

“Whoa, okay!  That’s enough!” Optimus finally stepped in, having hoped that the situation wouldn’t get this far.  He stood between them, hands on Tracks’ shoulders.  He looked into the redhead’s eyes, speaking carefully.  “This is unnecessary.  We’re all just here to have a good time.  Right, Tracks?”

The fashion designer looked ready to say something, but decided against it.  Instead, he settled on, “Yes.  We’re here to have fun.  Unfortunately, I can’t have such knowing that there is a thief in our midst.”

“Fine, if that is how it is, then you won’t anymore,” Botanica huffed, turning on her spiked heel.  “He’s leaving.  And I am going with him.  We will attend the other party.  It may not be as big, but at least the _commoners_ don’t have a problem with who I choose to see.”

As she and Rattletrap left, the brunette street rat giving a triumphant smirk over his shoulder, Tracks finally deflated.  “Oh… I really did it this time, didn’t I?” he sighed, covering his face with a hand.

Sensing that civility had returned to the situation, Optimus let go of him.  The Prime let out a breath of relief, running a hand through his brunette hair.  “I’ll say.  I haven’t seen you come so close to blows with someone since…” he trailed off, looking suddenly uncomfortable.  They knew he was talking about when Elita-1 had been lost.  Being her best friend for even longer than he was with Botanica, Tracks had nearly lost himself in his grief-induced rage, having punched Optimus hard enough to knock him off his feet.  Sentinel had to restrain the redhead to make sure he didn’t do anything more drastic.  At the time Optimus had taken responsibility for what had happened, so he didn’t blame Tracks for taking it out on him.  It was still an awkward subject to bring up, despite both the facts that Elita had actually survived their ill-advised trip into the mines and that it was Sentinel was the one who had come up with the idea to go there in the first place.

“Man, I’ve never seen something unravel so fast,” Bumblebee spoke up.  He made a sweeping motion downwards while whistling low, making an explosion sound complete with coordinating hand signal at the end of it.

Sari smacked him on the arm.  “Not helping!” she hissed.

“No, he’s right.  I just… I don’t know why he infuriates me so much.  I mean, I know why.  It’s because I know he’s a lying, thieving son-of-a…” Tracks trailed off when he remembered where he was and who he was with.  He cleared his throat.  “The problem is that I wouldn’t _care_ if he wasn’t dating Botanica.  She’s my best friend; I just don’t want her to get hurt.”

“I know,” Optimus nodded.  “But I’ve known you longer than she has.  Longer than a lot of people in Iacon, in fact.  I know you mean well, you just don’t… show it.”

“Yeah, you come off as being kind of snobby,” Bumblebee said.

“Still not helping!” Sari snapped.

“Nah, the kid’s right,” Ratchet said this time.  “The way you talk to him is exactly what he expects from the Elite.  Yer gonna hafta come up with a new approach to it, something he’s not expectin’.”

“You ever thought of bein’ nice?” Bulkhead asked.

Tracks looked at the mechanic as if he’d completely lost his mind.  “ _Nice_?  To the Rat?  I don’t even like him, why would I be _nice_ to him?”

“Think about it,” Jazz spoke up.  “He’s not gonna be expectin’ that.  Maybe you can get him to drop his guard.”

“Find out his intentions,” Prowl agreed.  While he was glad the center of attention was no long on himself, he didn’t like seeing someone in so much distress over such things.  He and his teammates, who he considered his closest friends, even his family, had a lot of their own falling outs.  It was why he lived with Lockdown now.  But he would give almost anything to take back a lot of the tension that had been formed between them over it.  “Perhaps you’re right, if so catch him in a lie.  If he has foul intentions with Botanica you can waylay his plans.  Who knows?  There is at least some chance he genuinely loves her.”

“ _Him_?” the designer scoffed, playing with the hem of his bejeweled sheer wrap.  He seemed actually more nervous by the prospect that it might be true.  “Someone like him doesn’t have the capacity to honestly love someone.  He makes his living doing nothing but… but dishonest work.  What kind of man does that?”

“Lockdown does,” Prowl replied.  It was a strange sensation saying it out loud.  Perhaps it wasn’t the smartest thing to admit in the middle of an Elite Guard gathering, but he suddenly felt the need to defend people like them.  “He does a lot of things that… that I should honestly be questioning.”  He didn’t look at his teammates while he said this.  They knew it all already, and it was part of the reason they were upset with him for being in a relationship with the bounty hunter.  “But that doesn’t mean he isn’t capable of love.  I know for a fact that he loves me.”

“I know it, too,” Jazz surprised him by agreeing.  “I don’t like it, but I know it.  Just ‘cause someone’s complete scum doesn’t mean they can’t honestly love someone.”

“Jazz…” the Japanese man stared at him a moment before looking annoyed.  “Don’t call Lockdown ‘scum.’  That’s just plain rude.  Did you learn nothing from what we just watched?”

“I learned that you’re a patient and tolerant person cause you put up with all the crap I give Lockdown?”

“Hmm, smartass.”

Tracks looked between the two.  “I don’t understand.  If you two have the same… repartee going on between you, and over roughly the same point of conflict, why is it you don’t get as upset?” he asked Prowl.

“Because even though I know he means every word of it, he never tries to stop me from being with Lockdown,” Prowl smiled.  “He knows he couldn’t stop me even if he wanted to, anyway.”

“Yeah.  Cause you’re stubborn,” the dark-skinned ninja teased.

“I try to stop you from being with Lockdown all the time,” Bumblebee raised his hand.  “How come you never snap at _me_ and leave?”

Prowl chuckled.  “Because I had to live with you for a year.  I just learned how to tune you out.”

The group laughed a bit before a foreign chuckle made them turn their attention to the masked man.  They’d completely forgotten he was there, being as he hadn’t said a word since Botanica and Tracks started arguing.

“This has been a fascinating study, watching you,” the man said.

“Who _are_ you?” Prowl finally asked.

“Oh, where are my manners?” Tracks said, seeming glad to change the subject.  “Team Optimus, and Jazz, please allow me to introduce an old friend of mine.  This is Mirage.”

The man removed the mask he was wearing, giving a small bow.  “It’s a pleasure.”  The face that was now revealed was very handsome, with dark eyes and a sly grin.

Bumblebee gawked.  “Wait, _you’re_ Mirage?” he asked in awe.  “ _The_ Mirage?”

“You know this guy, Bee?” Bulkhead asked, confused.

“Well, not personally, but I’ve heard all kinds of stories.  Mostly from Blurr,” the dark-skinned blond explained.  “According to him, Mirage is a legend in the Department of Intelligence.  He’s the longest lasting double-agent to ever go deep cover in the Destron forces.”  He paused a moment before coming to a realization.  “But… wait a minute, if you’re Mirage, what are you doing here?  I thought Intelligence guys don’t do public events since they can’t be seen or they’ll risk their work.”

“Not to mention he said you’re supposed to be ‘deep cover’ in the Destrons,” Ratchet folded his arms over his chest challengingly.  “What’s yer excuse, Mr. ‘Best Double Agent Ever’?”

Mirage gave a laugh, putting the mask back on.  “Simple.  Tracks invited me to this party, and I couldn’t say no.  And staying out of public eye is what the mask is for.”

“Oh yeah,” Sari said, “Because I believe a mask that covers half your face is gonna deflect _all_ suspicion.”

“The girl has you there, Mirage,” Tracks laughed.

The masked man raised his hands.  “Alright, I concede defeat.  That is not how I avoid the cameras.”  He gave another bow.  “ _This_ is how I avoid the cameras.”  After a moment his form wavered and vanished, as if someone turned him off like a TV.

“Whoa!” Bumblebee and Sari’s jaws hit the floor, looking around for a sign of him.

“That’d be a neat trick for a ninja,” Jazz admitted, grinning.

“Seems like it would almost be cheating,” Prowl agreed jokingly.

“Alright, we’re all impressed,” Ratchet grumbled.  “Show yerself, Double Agent.  I don’t trust a guy I can’t see.”

“Yeah, it’s kinda freakin’ me out a little,” Bulkhead admitted.

“My apologies,” the sound came from next to Prowl.  The ninja jumped away from the area the voice came from.  His form waved back in, standing uncomfortably close to the Japanese man.  The most disconcerting part for Prowl was the fact that he had no idea Mirage had been there, not even with his heightened senses.  It took unnatural amounts of skill to be able to sneak around without a ninja noticing.  “I could tell from your behavior before that you weren’t comfortable with me observing the costume Tracks had made for you.  Thus, I thought this was a good opportunity to…”  He raised a hand, touching the sleeve of the kimono.  Prowl flinched away from the touch and he withdrew.  “…get a closer look without your knowledge.”

“I would thank you not to do that again,” Prowl snapped at him, taking another step away from the unsettling spy.  “And keep your hands to yourself.  I do not like to be _touched_ , either.”

“Of course, I apologize once again,” Mirage took a step back himself.  “I find myself unable to resist where Tracks’ work is concerned.  Old habits die hard.  After all, who can resist something so beautiful?”  It did not go unnoticed by Prowl that he wasn’t looking at the costume this time.  The ninja’s entire body went tense, face turning a brilliant shade of crimson.

Tracks didn’t seem to take notice of the tension now present between Prowl and Mirage.  Instead, he let out a delighted giggle.  “Mirage, you do know how to flatter.  Come now, I just realized that the night is still young and there is much mingling to do.  Without Botanica, you are the only person I have to keep me from whittling my time away with certain individuals.”  He swept towards Mirage, taking his arm affectionately.  “I’ll be back later to check up on your costume again, Plum Dumpling.  Tata!”

They waved him off before Bulkhead came to a realization.  “Did he just call you a plum dumpling?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lockdown and Swindle infiltrate the EGHB, looking to liberate Prowl.

It had been a brilliant idea to wait until the party was in full swing, a full hour and a half after it officially started, for Lockdown and Swindle to implement their plan to crash it.  Probably the most brilliant idea that the con artist had for it (being as his job description required for him to know how to get around security of all types) was not to wear costumes.  After all, who expected two men of dubious moral ground to go to an event they weren’t invited to as themselves?  Lockdown was the one who swiped the press passes, though.  It wasn’t a hard job, as the media was crawling everywhere.  Swindle had done what had to be the fastest, most efficient alteration he’d ever pulled off on the passes right in the back of his SUV.  He seemed to have everything needed for it right there.  Even a portable lamination machine, though Lockdown wasn’t completely sure where in the world something like that could even be purchased.

“Alright, just remember to act casual when we get to the door, right?” Swindle reminded his partner for what felt like the seven millionth time.

“Yeah, I know.  This isn’t the first time I’ve had to sneak into a place I don’t belong, remember?” the bounty hunter muttered back as they made their way across the lobby.

Press members were gathered around the large space, hoping to catch a glimpse of a late arrival or early departure from the party.

“Might not wanna say that out loud, big guy,” the con artist snickered.

Before Lockdown could retort, there was a commotion.  Cameras began flashing incessantly and several news people started speaking into their recording devices all at once.  A couple had emerged from the party.  One was a woman with green-dyed hair and a dress that could only be described by Lockdown as ‘the most unnecessarily shiny thing anyone’s ever worn.’  The other was a short man with brown hair, a hoody, and a rat’s tail and ears sewn onto it.  It was even lazier than the fang caps the bounty hunter was wearing.

“I don’t believe it,” Swindle said.  “That’s Rattletrap.  How in the world did he get into one of the most important parties of the year?”

“Probably because of the woman on his arm.  She has to be important, look at how nuts the press are getting,” Lockdown answered.

Sure enough, the couple was immediately swarmed as soon as they were halfway through the lobby.  Cameras, microphones, and recorders were in their faces as they tried to make their way towards the public access party on the other side.  It was so loud they couldn’t even hear what the pair was shouting at them.

While they watched this unfolding, Swindle broke into a grin.  “Hey!” he yelled at the guards by the ballroom doors.  “Aren’t you going to help those poor people?  At this rate someone’s going to rip the dress off that woman!”

The guards, who had already been watching the scene warily, looked at each other at the suggestion.  After a moment, as the press started to frenzy for one arbitrary reason or another, they finally nodded to each other and went to help the other guards who were trying to disperse the crowd before something _did_ happen.

Lockdown nodded towards the ballroom door, now unguarded.  Before the guards could realize the dumb mistake they made the two hurried inside while they didn’t have to risk getting caught.

The party was far livelier than Lockdown would have guessed.  Dance music pumped from the huge speakers in the back of the room, several attendees already getting down.  A spread of catered food spanned an entire wall, people milling around it while painstakingly trying not to get any on their intricate costumes.  That idea would likely be abandoned when the press was booted in favor of a more relaxed atmosphere.  There were so many people in the huge ballroom that it became apparent spotting Prowl wouldn’t be easy.  After all, he was the kind of person who preferred not to be seen.

“So, where do you suggest we start looking?” Lockdown asked.  When no answer came he looked to his right, where Swindle had been standing.  Said dark-skinned con artist was no longer there, having likely disappeared somewhere to schmooze the upper class.  He sighed and shook his head, not surprised that Swindle would just abandon him to the crowd like that.

The bounty hunter began doing what he did best, concentrating on finding his real partner in the mess of people.  After all, finding people was what he got paid to do.

If he couldn’t locate Prowl by looking for him, he’d find him by looking for his teammates.  They were far easier to spot.  One in particular thrived on attention, and had to be at the center of it somewhere in there.  All he had to do was find a large concentration of teenagers.

“ _Whaaaaat?!”_

Well, that didn’t take long.  Lockdown would know that astonished and almost disgusted cry anywhere.  He followed the sound through the jumble of Elite and Elite Guard, looking over heads and around overly-elaborate headdresses and hats.  He recognized a good number of the people as former clients, those who needed dirty work to be done but didn’t want to risk their own reputations doing it themselves.  Some of them even showed signs of recognizing him, though he knew they wouldn’t dare rat him out.  The dirt he had on most of these people could probably cripple the Elite Guard High Command itself.

“…can’t _believe_ you guys got to be out there on the red carpet and Prime wouldn’t let me!”

Lockdown turned to his right, where he heard the outraged babbling.  Sure enough, standing with a group of his fellow teenagers was Bumblebee.  He stood with Sari Sumdac, the heir to the Sumdac Technologies fortune.  To his other side were the twins that followed Sentinel Prime everywhere, the ones turned into biomechanical weapons.  Behind him was Bulkhead, his best friend and part-time muscle.  It didn’t seem the older members of Team Optimus were around, but it was a good start.

“Honestly, it makes me so mad, I could just…” the sugar junkie, who was carefully avoiding taking out his fang caps with a cherry lollipop, trailed off when he noticed Lockdown approaching them.  After a moment, he finally managed, “ _You!_ What’re _you_ doing here?!”

Lockdown sneered at the disgust in his voice.  The two of them absolutely despised each other, most of it stemming from Bumblebee’s insistence that the bounty hunter ‘stole’ Prowl from them, and the subsequent constant attempts to break them up on his behalf.  “What do you think, half-pint?” he asked, all but getting in the blond’s face.

“Whoa, now, no need to start something here,” Sari took it upon herself to place herself between the two, holding up her hands in a gesture of peace to the greying bounty hunter.  She probably held the least animosity towards Lockdown out of the group, having no real reason to personally dislike him.  “No one wants to get kicked out, right?”

“Maybe he should be,” Bulkhead pointed out.  He didn’t sound like he meant it maliciously, but rather as a point of fact.  “I mean… he’s not supposed to be here, right?”

“No, I’m not,” Lockdown didn’t even hide it.  There wasn’t any point, anyway.  They all knew he crashed the party.  “I’m just here to rescue Prowl from your stupid office party.”

“It’s not stupid!” Bumblebee spat, bristling.  “It’s an Elite Guard tradition dating back over forty years, originally established to create deeper ties between the Guard, Elite, and public.  It helped build morale during the colder, wetter autumn seasons during the Great War when the Destrons were at their peak of tactical advantage.”  When he was met with blank stares, including Sari actually turning to gape over her shoulder at him, he crossed his arms over his chest testily.  “What?  I pay attention in history.”

“Anyway…” the redheaded girl turned back towards Lockdown, shrugging.  “Look, I’m sure you have only the most noble of intentions, so I’ll tell you where we last saw him if you agree to not make any trouble.”

“Cross my cold, black heart, kid,” Lockdown ran a finger over his chest in an X motion.

“Good enough.  He’s over that way, near the corner,” Sari pointed near the back of the ballroom, where it was shadowed and sparse of people.

“I would being careful if I was being you, though, Mr. Lockdown, sir.”

The bounty hunter turned around at the thick Russian accent.  He’d almost forgot those twins were there.  “Yeah?  What for?” he asked.  He wasn’t sure which one had spoken first.

“Sentinel Prime and Ultra Magnus, sirs, are here,” the orange-haired one said.

“They will be much of angry if they are seeing you,” his black-haired brother added.

“You know where they are?” Lockdown asked.

“Last we are seeing they are that way,” Jetstorm answered, pointing in the direction of the lengthy catered tables.

“No, when we are meeting with the Bumblebee, they are being _there_ ,” Jetfire gestured in the opposite direction, near a large group of Elite Guard patrons.

“They were by food table!” Jetstorm snapped.

“No, they are doing the mingling!” Jetfire insisted.  The two boys started arguing loudly, faces inches from each other.

“I’m gonna go find Prowl before they start drawing a crowd,” Lockdown told the other three, who were displaying varying levels of annoyance at the scene.

“Oh yeah, just leave us to this.  Not like you caused it or anything,” Bumblebee said bitterly.

“Ignore him.  Go find Prowl,” Sari smiled, giving the bounty hunter a light shove in the direction she’d indicated before.  “Oh, and Lockdown?” she said before he left.

“What, kid?” the man asked.

“Try not to stare.”

Lockdown almost asked her what she meant, but determined she would have elaborated if she’d intended to.  He waved her off, pushing out of the crowd of people who, sure enough, started gathering to see what the commotion was.  Behind him he could hear the teenage twins getting louder and louder as they each insisted upon where they had last left their bosses.

Approaching the back of the ballroom meant the music got louder, as it was near the stage and its massive speakers.  Lockdown ignored the music that now pumped hard enough in his direction that it made his head hurt the best he could, determined to find his partner and get him out of this circus.

People were far less common in this area of the ballroom, likely thanks to the heavy bass filling it.  There were one or two couples indulging in the solitude, but they ignored him as he stalked through, looking carefully at each person to make sure he didn’t pass by his disguised ninja.  So far the only people who were on their own back there were a couple of bored Elite teenage girls, a gothic-style vampire one sitting in the very corner and one with fairy wings and blue hair so close to the speakers he was sure she was going to go deaf before the night was over.  They were both on their phones, tapping away rapidly.  Whenever one was done typing something the other would start doing so.  He was starting to think they were messaging each other without bothering to actually get up and talk face to face instead.

Lockdown was also starting to think Prowl had moved from the area since the last time Sari had seen him.  He double-checked everyone, starting to lose patience with this.  A pair of women in Victorian period clothing used feathered fans to cover whatever gossip they were giving.  A man and woman, dressed as a pair of superheroes, were doing nothing more than looking into each other’s eyes as if they were in a romance novel, kissing each other every once in a while.  He rolled his eyes and looked to the last pair.

A man in a blue and white tuxedo and a feathered mask was flirting with a younger man with a painted face and a modified kimono that would probably have been illegal if not for the spandex shorts he was wearing underneath it.  Lockdown almost passed them by if not for the sudden moment of recognition.  He couldn’t believe what he was seeing but… that was Prowl.  _His_ Prowl, wearing the most provocative, exposing thing he’d _never_ be caught dead in.  He likely wouldn’t have even realized it was him if not for his posture and facial expression.  He’d know that guarded stance and tight, uncomfortable expression anywhere.  It made Lockdown’s blood boil seeing this other man be so completely ignorant of his awkward discomfort.

The bounty hunter approached behind the stranger, unnoticed by both him and Prowl, who was determinedly looking elsewhere to try and indicate that he didn’t want to speak to him.

“Come now, surely you don’t want to spend the entire night here in the dark?  How will anyone see how beautiful you look?” the man asked smoothly.

“I prefer not to be seen looking so…” Prowl trailed off, not seeming to be able to conjure a word that would properly convey his feelings.

“Ridiculous?” Lockdown offered from behind the other man.

The blue-tuxedoed man jumped, turning quickly.  Prowl’s head whipped around, staring open-mouthed at the bounty hunter.  The masked man recovered quickly, clearing his throat.  “I don’t know how appropriate you think it is to butt into conversations uninvited, nor insult others so casually, however…”

“No, Mirage, it’s alright,” Prowl found his voice, pushing himself off of the wall.  He tugged on the bottom of his cut-off kimono, looking embarrassed.  “Lockdown, what are you doing here?” he asked lightly.

“Here to be your hero, kid,” the graying man smirked.  “Who’s this prick?”

The other man, Mirage, glared at him.  He didn’t rise to the bait, though.  He simply huffed.  “Lockdown, was it?  That wouldn’t be the bounty hunter Lockdown, I hope.  Because I don’t remember seeing your name on the guest list.”

“Mirage, please,” Prowl warned, stepping between the two.  “You do not want to start anything with him.”

“What, you think I’m gonna punch this arrogant ass if he says something I don’t like?” Lockdown scoffed.

“Yes, let’s see him do something that will draw attention to us.  The sooner he gets kicked out of this party the better,” Mirage said haughtily.

“You seem to misunderstand,” Prowl corrected him.  “I have been enduring your flirting all night, no matter how much I have asked you to walk away and leave me be.  I haven’t used force, instead allowing you to ignore my requests because despite his over-enthusiastic quirks I do like Tracks and he thinks very highly of you.  However, if you say anything to my partner that I find questionable he won’t have time to punch you, because I will knock your teeth out first.  Now, I ask you once again.  _Please walk away_ , Mirage.  Because I’m not afraid of being kicked out of a party I never wanted to go to in the first place.”

Mirage stared at him in shock.  Lockdown couldn’t help but grin at the dumbfounded look on his face.  He was obviously very used to the quiet, reserved side of Prowl that he had seen all night.  The version of him that he put forward to keep people from noticing him when he wanted to sink into the background.  It had put the Elite man under the impression that Prowl was just an unassuming, perhaps even unremarkable member of the Elite Guard outside of his good looks.  However, he was now seeing Prowl as he really was, the Prowl that Lockdown always wished he’d show more often.  Someone dangerous and unapproachable.

“Well, I suppose I should go find Tracks.  He’ll want to know his proudest work is leaving the party early,” Mirage sniffed, turning on his heel.  “Goodnight, Prowl.  Happy Halloween.”

“Happy Halloween, Mirage.”

“Hmph.”  With that the other man was gone, quite literally disappearing into the party.

Prowl sighed in relief as soon as he was gone, turning to his partner.  “Did you really come to rescue me from this party?” he asked in amusement, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course.  I’d never leave you to these wolves, kid,” Lockdown answered.  “Look what happened when I left you alone for just an hour here.”

“Has it really only been an hour?” Prowl asked in astonishment.  “I don’t exactly have a place to keep the time in this… this…”

“Seriously, darlin’.  What is with the outfit?” Lockdown snickered, reaching forward and flicking one of the golden pins in Prowl’s hair.  “You look like something out of a Japanese porno.”

“I know, I know…” Prowl covered his face with both hands, being careful not to smudge the makeup he’d been subjected to wearing.  “I should have known better than trust Tracks not to make something like this…”

“How about I get you outta here before you have to stand in this corner any longer, hopin’ someone else doesn’t recognize you?”

“Please do…”

Lockdown chuckled again, giving a gesture for the Japanese man to follow him.  He began walking towards the door, knowing his partner would follow right behind.  The much larger, muscular man made for good cover from curious eyes.  People certainly noticed, and they watched interestedly, but they kept to themselves.  The Elite knew when discretion was desired.

Most of them, at least, as for the second time Tracks’ voice made Prowl’s heart sink.

“Stop right there, darling!”

Prowl halted at the words like a child being caught by their father.  He swallowed and turned slowly, ready for the disappointment he knew would be present in Tracks’ face.  Sure enough, when he opened his eyes after turning fully, he found blue eyes narrowed, arms crossed haughtily.  Tracks’ lips were quirked down delicately, bottom lip jutting in displeasure.  ‘Oh, no,’ Prowl realized, ‘He’s taking this personally.’

Tracks’ mouth opened and the ninja braced himself for a myriad of questions of where he thought he was going, and how he could abandon him after promising to come to the party.  Instead, he was surprised when the fashion designer said, “You really hate this, don’t you?”

Prowl blinked at him a moment, registering the fact that Tracks actually sounded sad for _him_.  When he recovered he answered, “It’s not that I _hate_ it.  I’m simply… not comfortable.  I’m sorry.”

Tracks sighed and smiled, looking to by the DJ booth.  “I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” he said as they watched Jazz shouting something to Blaster.  “He wanted to dance with you, at least once.  I believe he’s requesting the song he wants as we speak.”

The Japanese man felt his heart sink at the words, looking from the music enthusiasts chatting on the other side of the room to Lockdown.  He gave him a helpless, pleading look.  It wasn’t something the bounty hunter saw often on him, at least not out in public like this.

“Fuck, kid,” the older man growled, looking away from it.  “Don’t look at me like that.  I’m not your babysitter.  If you wanna stay and dance with him, go ahead.”  When Prowl flinched at the words and tone, he added, “I’ll be waitin’ for you.  I’m not gonna leave you to these vultures, you know that.”

The ninja finally smiled at that, turning back to Tracks.  The redhead looked like he was waiting.  “Alright, I’ll stay for one dance.  No longer than that, though.  Even though I’m sorry that I can’t stay, I still don’t feel comfortable enough with this entire situation to do so.”

“I’m not going to force you to stay, plum dumpling,” Tracks chuckled.  “I’m just proud of you for lasting as long as you did.  You proved that we can at least put a crack in your shell.  That’s good enough for me.”  He turned and gave a little wave of his fingers before disappearing back into the crowd.

“You know, I don’t know if I find him annoying or terrifying,” Lockdown muttered into Prowl’s ear as soon as they were alone.  After a moment he asked, “Did he just call you a plum dumpling?”

“Yes, apparently it’s becoming a habit,” Prowl answered with a sigh.  “Are you really okay with me staying to dance?”

“Honestly?  No.  But it’s your choice, not mine.”

The Japanese man looked away from him, staring at the floor.  It wasn’t fair how Lockdown could make him feel guilty by being a reasonable person.

“Prowl!” Jazz’s voice cut over the crowd and loud music as the other ninja jogged up to them.  He stopped a couple feet away, seeming content not to get any closer to the bounty hunter standing with Prowl.  “What are _you_ doing here?” he huffed.

“Jazz, please,” Prowl pleaded, holding up a hand to stop either of his companions from saying something they were going to regret.  “He’s here to take me home.  I’ve had about all I can handle of this party.”

Jazz’s face sunk at the words, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.  “Oh…” was all he seemed to manage.  He didn’t argue, nor try and stop him.  He respected the younger ninja far too much to try.  After a moment of silence he asked, “Well… you think you could stay just long enough for… you know… one dance?”

Prowl smiled and nodded, holding out a hand.  “I would love to, Jazz.”

The dark-skinned man’s face lit up at the response, taking the hand offered to him and pulling Prowl towards the dance floor.  As if waiting for them (which was completely possible, as Blaster and Jazz were good friends), the music turned from the upbeat dance tune to something much softer and more mellow.  People began to find partners to dance with, couples taking to the floor around the two ninjas.

Jazz stopped in the middle of the floor and turned around, putting a hand on Prowl’s waist and taking the Japanese man’s hand on his other side into his own.  The two of them began to rock and move together, swaying lightly to the romantic music playing over the speakers.

“I’m sorry I have to leave so soon,” Prowl finally spoke as they danced, looking into the other man’s shade-covered eyes.  “I tried to do this, but… between the ridiculous costume and all of these people here…”  He glanced around, suddenly having the paranoid feeling that they were being watched.  No, everyone was absorbed in the company of their own partners.

“I know.  I’m sorry for making you feel like you had to,” Jazz replied, giving a lopsided apologetic smile.  “I guess I just wanted to see you chill and have a good time.  Sometimes I forget how different we are.  I’ll probably never get how anyone can come to a party and not have fun.  But that’s just how you are.”

Prowl smiled and stepped a bit closer to the other man.  It was dangerously close to his personal space zone, but he kept himself in check.  “I’m having fun right now,” he said sincerely.  “I like spending time with you like this.  Honestly, it’s helping me forget how many people are around us right now.  How… _exposed_ I feel.”  He swallowed.

“I think you’re more uncomfortable than you’re lettin’ on,” Jazz chuckled.  “I’m glad I’m helping, though.”  He tightened his hold on Prowl slightly, glad he was wearing his sunglasses.  They hid the fact that he was definitely indulging in being so close to the raven-haired man’s pretty face.  He had to fight hard against the distinct urge to close the gap and kiss the beautiful Japanese man.  He knew it would only hurt their relationship, and probably cause Lockdown to appear out of the crowd to try and beat him into a pulp.

On the other side of the crowd, Lockdown was definitely not enjoying watching this.  He grit his teeth and dug his fingers into his own crossed arms to keep himself from going over there and dragging Prowl out at that moment.

“Man, I got you into this party so you could prevent those two from getting closer, and you sit here and _watch_ them getting cozy,” Swindle scoffed, walking over and leaning an elbow on the larger man’s shoulder.  “How do you mess up that bad?”

“Bein’ patient.  Damn kid makes me feel so possessive, then guilty for bein’ that way.  Is this how normal people feel when they get serious?” Lockdown huffed, glancing at the Spanish man.

“You’re asking _me_?  I don’t think I’ve ever _been_ in a serious relationship,” Swindle lowered his shades, raising an eyebrow at him.  “The only thing I’ve ever had serious feelings for is money, money, and more money.  Sex is a means to an end, or just a product of my biological needs.”

“Sometimes I forget you’re a selfish prick.”

“Takes one to know one.”  The dark-skinned man pushed the sunglasses back up.  “At any rate, I guess I shouldn’t feel too put off.  This was a great opportunity to make some connections.  I even gave my card to a couple of people.  You should do the same, would be good for business.”

“There are Elite Guard crawling all over this place,” Lockdown growled low.

“Hey, I’m talking about completely legal transactions.  I sell a lot of rare and hard to find merchandise, and you run a car garage.  I don’t know where _your_ mind went.”

“Yeah, sure,” the bounty hunter huffed, rolling his eyes.  He couldn’t be angry with the teasing, though.  It was keeping his mind off of his partner dancing with his fellow ninja.  Actually… “So, you wanna dance?”

Swindle actually looked at him in surprise, having not expected the question.  “I… I mean…” he actually blushed a bit, looking away.  Despite what he said about not wanting a stable relationship, it wasn’t a secret that his unusual business one with Lockdown was the closest thing he had to actually being in love.  It wasn’t quite the same thing, he wasn’t even sure how to classify it himself.  But he definitely considered Lockdown far more than a simple business partner.  “You moron, don’t go asking me that.  I should be dancing with someone I don’t already have a business arrangement with,” he finally managed.  “Someone who isn’t sleeping with someone other than me tonight, too.”

“You’re cute when you get embarrassed,” Lockdown chuckled, only earning a deeper blush at that.

Swindle huffed, punching him in the arm.  “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“Prowl reminds me regularly,” the pale-skinned man replied.

“Well, I’m going to go flirt with someone who isn’t going to be screwing someone who isn’t me, if you don’t mind.  I’ll call you tomorrow, since I’m assuming you won’t be answering your phone tonight.”

“Yeah, get outta here.  Go get laid, you’re sounding like you need it more than I do,” Lockdown said, slapping him lightly on the rear as Swindle walked away.  He received a middle finger as a response and went back to watching the two ninjas.

“Your boyfriend is going to glare holes in me soon,” Jazz muttered to Prowl, trying not to grin in too much self-satisfaction where Prowl could see it.

“I know, but he gets me all night.  He can let you have me for five minutes.”  At the implications of the statement, Jazz snorted.  The sound made Prowl realize what he said and his face turned three shades of bright red.  “That was not what I meant at all!” he objected even though Jazz hadn’t said anything.

“I know, but that may be the closest thing to saying something dirty I’ve ever heard you get,” the dark-skinned ninja couldn’t help but point out.

“I’m going to die of embarrassment before I’m ever out of here,” his Japanese companion said, lowering his head to try and hide his mortified face.

“The song isn’t that much longer, don’t worry,” Jazz chuckled.  “Then you can leave.  Thanks for having this one dance with me, though.”

Prowl looked back up at him, redness receding as he smiled again.  “Like I told you, I wanted to.  You’re the reason I agreed to come.  If you weren’t going to be here, I would never have even thought of this.”

Jazz blinked in surprise at him, then felt the blush that retreated from Prowl creep into his own cheeks.  “Really?” he asked.

“Of course.  I know you have… affections for me, Jazz.  I act like I don’t, but that’s only because I don’t want how our friendship works to change.  I… I don’t have a lot of people I feel comfortable enough around to let this close.  This is important to me.  I know how selfish that sounds, especially at the expense of how you feel…” Prowl looked ashamed.

“Nah, Prowl.  Don’t even worry about it for a second.  I know you love Lockdown, much as I don’t have to like it.  But I don’t wanna push you away, either.”

The younger ninja’s spirits lifted at the words, as if this was something he’d been worrying about for a while.  The song ended before he could think of a response, the couples on the floor laughing and scattering before the music picked back up and they were swept up into the fast-paced dancing that was sure to replace it.  Prowl clung to Jazz’s hand as they fought their way through the crowd, getting back to Lockdown.  He didn’t want to get separated and forced back onto the floor by the crowd.

“You two finished?” Lockdown growled, glaring at their connected hands.

“Oh!  Yes.  We are,” Prowl assured him, letting go quickly.  “We should go.  Please.  I don’t think I can do this any longer.”

“Alright, I’ll talk to you at work,” Jazz nodded, giving him one last quick hug.

“Of course,” Prowl replied, smiling.  “Tell the others I’m sorry I didn’t stay longer for me.”

“Yeah.  See ya,” Jazz backed away and wove back into the crowd before he could draw out the goodbye any longer.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lockdown and Prowl finally spend their Halloween together. And what's more festive than some hanky-panky?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween, everyone!
> 
> (I was originally going to have a full-blown sex scene in this chapter, but I ended up deciding against it. Sorry if you were looking forward to one!)

As Prowl and Lockdown drove home, the ninja silently watched the people walking around the city.  Children with their Halloween bags and pillow cases for collecting candy.  Adults, both young and old, going from one venue to another trying to enjoy as much as they could.  Everyone in costumes both simple and intricate.  Some were modest or spooky, others were intricate and sexy.  Girls in tiny skirts, guys walking shirtless.  He couldn’t understand how they didn’t die of embarrassment showing off so much of themselves.

Then again, maybe most of them were like him.  They wouldn’t normally wear something so revealing.  There may be some merit to Tracks’ words about Halloween being the day to be something you’re not.  Maybe just to try it.

Prowl pulled down the passenger mirror and looked at himself.  The makeup he wore was still intact, likely some expensive brand that reflected everything else Tracks did for his art.  He didn’t usually care about looking good.  It was never a priority, primarily because an emphasis on such things were counterintuitive to the ninja value of going unnoticed.  People noticed attractive people, it was simply a fact.  But after tonight…

“Lockdown.”

“Yeah, kid?”

“Do you think I’m sexy?”

“What?” Lockdown laughed, looking at him incredulously.  “What brought this along, darlin’?  You know I do.”

Prowl’s face heated in embarrassment again.  He was doing that a lot that Halloween night.  Feeling embarrassed.  Most of it was brought along by the focus the people he knew gave him because of how he looked.  The thing that had brought it on the hardest, though, was the person he _didn’t_ know.  Mirage had made him extremely uncomfortable, mostly because he reminded him too much of things he wanted to forget forever.  “I mean… I know you think so normally.  But do you think I look sexy in this costume?” he elaborated.  “You said I look ridiculous, and I couldn’t agree more.  But… but at the same time, the reason I feel so is because it also makes me feel too… sexy.”

Lockdown stopped at a red light behind a bunch of cars and turned more fully to look at him.  “I meant what I said, kid.  That outfit, the entire thing, is completely ridiculous.”  He brushed his fingers under his chin and brought their faces in close to one another.  “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t sexy as hell on you, too.”

Prowl felt his breathing pick up at the words, swallowing.  This was the day to be someone he wasn’t normally.  To let out something he didn’t usually showcase.  “Would you…” he looked away for a moment, hesitating.  He then looked back and said it how he never thought he would.  “Would you fuck me like this?”

Lockdown laughed in surprise, closing the gap between them in a crushing kiss.  Prowl melted into it, opening his mouth to accept Lockdown’s tongue.  Before they could get too far into it, Lockdown stopped and pulled back.  Prowl whined, feeling himself hardening in the tight, black shorts he was wearing.

“Like a jackrabbit, darlin’,” the bounty hunter said gruffly.  “But when we get home.  I’m drivin’, remember?”

“Right…” Prowl breathed out.  He had completely forgotten they were in the middle of traffic at that moment.  As the car moved with the green light and the ones in front of it, Prowl found himself grateful for the red-tinted windows that blocked people from seeing inside.  That was the most public display of affection he’d ever partaken in.  Besides, he was pretty sure how turned on he was could be seen by anyone simply glancing at him at that point.

The next thirty minutes driving home were like torture to the raven-haired man, who wanted desperately to calm himself down at least somewhat.  Every time he started managing it, though, he’d make the mistake of looking at his partner, who would look back and… oh, _god_ , the look in his eyes was so predatory and possessive.  It sent jolts of electricity right back down to his cock and he couldn’t withhold the groan he’d emit from the feeling.  He could practically feel Lockdown’s hands all over his bare skin, his cock pressed up against the crack of his ass…

“Almost there, kid,” Lockdown chuckled, seeming to be able to simply sense his dilemma.  He was enjoying it, Prowl could tell.  It wasn’t fair that he could hold so much power over the Japanese man, yet sit there looking so damn calm.

As soon as they pulled into the garage of the Death’s Head, Prowl was out of the car and running up the stairs to the apartment.  He got to the door before realizing his hurry was meaningless.  He didn’t have any place to put anything in his costume.  All of his possessions were in Jazz’s _car_ , including his keys.

“In a bit of a hurry?” Lockdown’s voice came from behind him and he felt the press of his lover against the whole of his back.

“Just… open the door, please…” Prowl breathed out, trying to keep himself under control as he felt Lockdown’s hardness press against his back.

Lockdown chuckled again, reaching around Prowl and slowly pushing the key into the lock.  It was so slow, the ninja bit his lip and made a whining sound.  “Jeez, kid, I’ve never seen you so impatient before,” the bounty hunter said as he turned the key.

Prowl didn’t reply, turning the nob and rushing into the apartment and straight to the bedroom.  As soon as he was there he leaned against the large bed, feeling his legs nearly give out.  It was mostly from how worked up he’d gotten himself, thinking about all of the dirty things he wanted Lockdown to do to him.  Part of it, though, was from the pure restraint he demonstrated before they’d pulled in.  Even with the tinted windows he’d felt nearly sick with embarrassment that he was getting so horny in the car.  He didn’t know what had suddenly come over him, as just the idea of being turned on in public was usually so terrifying that the thought alone could keep him from it.

“Wow, kid.  I’ve never seen you move so fast, not even after a target,” Lockdown laughed as he sauntered in after him, still taking his sweet time.  He walked behind the bent-over form of his partner, reaching out and placing a hand on his back.

At the contact, something in Prowl seemed to snap.  He emitted a strangely feral growl, startling the older man as he reached back and grabbed the arm.  He twisted quickly around and all but flung Lockdown onto his back on the bed.  He had come to a realization as he was sorting his thoughts out about why what Tracks had said led to him behaving so completely opposite of his usual mannerisms.  He wasn’t aggressive in bed, he was quite happy to let Lockdown take point.  But this was his one chance to break free of that.  This was his moment to be the person he was afraid to be.  Because that was what Halloween was.

Lockdown was completely caught off-guard by the sudden assertiveness of his partner.  He wasn’t complaining, as the gorgeous ninja crawled up his prone body, coming to rest straddling his hips.  He could feel the skin-tight fabric of Prowl’s costume shorts press against his leather-trapped erection, which was hardening rapidly at the sight before him.

He hadn’t lied when he said Prowl looked ridiculous.  He hadn’t meant it in a negative way, though.  Simply that this was an outfit Prowl usually would never get caught dead in, and the change was bizarre.  The truth was it looked gorgeous on him.  He was always beautiful, but he never wore sexy things like the tiny kimono he was now.  The socks – tabi? – that he was wearing went just under his knees, giving a strangely provocative look to his legs.  Even his face all made up like it was, with the winged eyeliner and shadow and dark red lips, was strange.  It almost felt like a completely different person was sitting on top of him, despite what he already knew.  It took a moment for him to realize that _that_ was what this was all about.

“Well, well,” he muttered, smirking as he reached up and stroked his partner’s cheek.  “Did this costume manage to unlock a secret fetish of yours, darlin’?  Cause it’s looking from here like you’ve got a bit of a role playing turn on.”

Prowl tilted his head to the side, not seeming to comprehend the proposal.  “Role playing?” he echoed.  He had heard the term when it came to Bumblebee’s video games he loved playing, but not for something like this.

“You don’t know what a role playing fetish is?” Lockdown raised an eyebrow.  “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised.  It’s where one or both people dress up in costume and pretend to be those things while they have sex.  You’re real insecure about doing sexy things yourself.  So I think the idea of it being someone other than you, of _you_ being someone other than you, is making you… braver, I guess.”

Prowl thought about it a moment, looking in the mirror on the closet door behind him at his reflection, sitting straddled on Lockdown’s lap with the older man sprawled out on the bed.  He _didn’t_ look like himself.  He looked like someone… sexy.  Confident.

“…the idea is that we pretend I’m someone I’m not, right?” he reiterated, making sure he understood.

“Yeah, that’s the general idea.  Or maybe not someone else, just a different you.”

“A different me.”  Prowl looked back down at Lockdown underneath him and leaned forward.  “Then tonight I am not Prowl.  I don’t want to be Prowl tonight.  I want to be…”

Lockdown propped himself up on an elbow, waiting.  It was making him excited to hear whatever he had to say.  Even though the idea was for Prowl to be someone else, he would know either way that this was Prowl, _his_ Prowl, doing something so passionate.  That was all he needed.  “You want to be…?” he encouraged.

Prowl thought for a few more moments, before coming to a decision.  If he was going to be something he wasn’t, he was going to go completely opposite of everything he was.  Everything he stood for.  “Tonight, I want to be a slut.”

“Whoa, Prowl!” Lockdown sat the rest of the way up in shock.  “I know you wanna do something different, but isn’t that a bit-“

Prowl surprised him again by placing both hands on his chest and pushing him back down.  He leaned his weight on it just enough to keep him pinned.  The look in his eyes was as feral as the sound he’d made earlier.  “You said I could be anything I want to be.  I want to be slutty.  I want to fuck in every way we can think of.”

Lockdown wanted to object again, but found himself speechless.  Prowl got… really into it _really_ quickly.  He said the words with so much conviction, there wasn’t a trace of the shy, unsure lover he was used to.

“But I want to be slutty on my terms.  I want to be the one in control.”

Lockdown’s mouth drew into a predatory grin once again, laying back down.  “Don’t let me stop you from exploring your more sensual side, darlin’.”

 

()()()()()

 

The morning sun peeking through the curtains caused Lockdown to groan lightly.  Damn, he was sore.  Him and Prowl had more sex last night than he remembered them having in the last two weeks.  His partner was downright fearless in his sexual exploration when he convinced himself to completely let go.  Apparently all that took was letting him pretend he was someone different for a night.

Maybe they needed to invest in some more costumes.

“Mmm…” Prowl’s own light moan caught Lockdown’s attention and he turned his attention to the mass of blankets next to him.  Huh, he was so used to Prowl already being awake at this hour he hadn’t even bothered to look and see if he was there.

“Morning, darlin’,” the muscular man whispered, leaning over and giving the Japanese man a kiss on the top of the head.  It was the only part of him still visible.

“Can’t b’morn…” was all the response he received from beneath the lump of blankets.

“It can and it is,” Lockdown chuckled, pushing the blankets off himself.  He stretched and yawned as he pushed himself out of bed.  “I’m gonna make some coffee if you wanna wash up.  I have a feeling you don’t want me to see what you look like after that much fucking.”

The only reply that earned the bounty hunter was a pillow being chucked at him and the blanket being pulled the rest of the way over Prowl’s head.

Lockdown outright laughed that time, walking over to his dresser and pulling out a pair of sweatpants and pulling them on.  It would do for now.  He looked at the mess they’d made of their bedroom.  His own vest was hanging off of a lamp in the corner.  How that got there, he couldn’t remember, but it was honestly probably thrown.  The rest of his clothes were scattered, mixed with the ridiculous amount of parts that went with Prowl’s costume.  The actual kimono itself was lying in a heap on the floor, and Lockdown picked it up.  He hung it over a chair, figuring Prowl wouldn’t want to see it get damaged.  He’d said something when they wrestled him out of it about it being worth more than the bills for the Death’s Head.

Lockdown made his way into the kitchen and started preparing the ancient coffee brewer he refused to replace.  He decided to prepare some eggs for breakfast, knowing Prowl would appreciate as little responsibility as possible.  If he was too tired to wake up before the sun as he usually did, he was in no shape to make his own meals.  As he started up the stove he heard the shower turn on.

Almost as soon as the eggs he cracked hit the hot pan, the phone rang.  The bounty hunter made his way over and picked it up, holding it to his ear with his shoulder while he monitored his breakfast.  “This is Lockdown,” he grunted.

“ _Buenos Dias, Soleado_ ,” Swindle’s cheery voice met him on the other end of the line.

“Never call me that again if you want to live,” Lockdown replied in annoyance.  “What do you want at this time in the morning?”

“Nothing much, just checking in,” the black market dealer said, the sound of papers shifting in the background.  “I was up anyway, figured someone would answer if I called.  Prowl’s usually long since up by now.”

“Not this morning,” Lockdown grinned as he flipped one of the eggs with ease.  “We unlocked his kinky side last night.  He was still feeling it last I saw.”

There was a whistle and a laugh.  “Congratulations, LD.  Sounds like both of us had a good night.”

“Find someone to make a deal with?” the bounty hunter guessed.

“Well… I guess you could say that…” Swindle’s shit-eating grin could practically be heard through the phone.

There was another shifting sound, this time with the creaking of bed-springs.  “Working in bed?” another voice muttered nearby the phone.  “The only thing that should happen here is pleasure.”

“I’m still writing out the rest of the contract,” Swindle replied, mouth obviously not next to the receiver for it.  There was a small moan from him afterwards.  “Alright, alright.  You weren’t kidding when you said your bed came with terms and conditions.”

“I thought you’d expect strings attached to anything you do,” the other man in the bed chuckled.  This sounded much closer to the receiver.

Lockdown knitted his eyebrows, trying to figure out why that voice sounded so familiar.  Finally, he asked, “Wait, is that that asshole that was flirting with Prowl?  What’s his name… Mirage?”

“Wait, you met Mirage last night?” Swindle asked in surprise, mouth returning to the receiver.

“Who are you talking to?” Mirage asked.

“Lockdown,” Swindle said.  “I told you I was checking in with a business partner.”

“You never said your partner was that muscle-bound brute!”

“Uh-oh.  Lockdown, what did you do?”

Lockdown scoffed, turning the burners on the stove off.  “Don’t ask _me_ that, ask your poor choice in bed partners over there.  He’s the one who was harassing Prowl all night at the party until I swooped in to the rescue.”

“There was hardly any swooping,” Mirage muttered.

“Well, this is officially awkward,” Swindle sighed.  “Alright, since I now know you two made it home and to bed perfectly fine last night, I’m going to go before _la fantasma_ here decides to kick me out before our deal is over.”

“Alright.  Call me when you’re not fucking tightwads,” Lockdown ordered.  “I want to know you got out of there with all of your limbs still attached.  I trust you more than him, and I _know_ you’re a lying, cheating son of a-”

“Are you about to call my mother what I think you are?” Swindle cut him off.

“I was gonna say ‘son of a beautiful, empowered woman.’  You always assume the worst.”

“Mm-hm.  Bye, _Soleado_.”

“Stop calling-!”

Before Lockdown could finish berating the Spanish man, the phone clicked and went into the dial tone.  He looked at it in disgust.  “When I told you to get laid, I didn’t mean with assholes like him,” he muttered to it.

“Who are you talking to?”

Lockdown looked up and saw Prowl leaning on the entrance to the kitchen area.  He was glistening wet from his shower, a pair of boxer-briefs clinging to his pelvic area and a thin tank-top doing the same to his chest and abs.  A towel was hanging loosely around his shoulders.  It was easy to forget when he was covered as much as he usually was how muscular his body was.  The muscles were lean on his light frame, but well defined.  “Damn, kid,” he said, unable to help his stare.  “You feelin’ alright?  You don’t usually even walk around here lookin’ like that.”

Prowl looked away, face tinting red.  “Well… I supposed since you’ve already seen so much of me, and it’s just the two of us anyway…”

Lockdown swallowed a bit, feeling his cock twitch.  “I, uh…” he started, but found himself unable to figure out what it was he wanted to say.  He’d worked so hard to get Prowl this comfortable, he didn’t realize how turned on he would be when it actually happened.  “I made eggs.”  It admittedly wasn’t the dumbest thing he could have said.

Prowl looked back up at him and finally smiled.  It was one of the warmest, most honest ones he’d ever given.  He walked forward until he stood just a few inches away from his older partner.  He raised the towel off his shoulders and threw it around the back of Lockdown’s neck, pulling him down until their lips met.  They stood there in the kitchen for a few moments, sharing a passionate kiss.  Finally, he pulled away.  “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Remind me to make you eggs more often,” Lockdown managed.

“Not that,” Prowl laughed, leaning forward until his head lay on Lockdown’s shoulder.  “I mean for letting me be… me.  I’m still figuring some things out, especially when it comes to us.  But you’re so patient with me.  So… thank you.”

Lockdown stared at him a moment before smiling back, wrapping his arms around him.  “You’re welcome, darlin’.”  After a moment, he chuckled.  “You know what I just realized I forgot to say last night?”

“Hmm?” Prowl looked up at him, confused.

“Happy Halloween, Prowl.”

The Japanese man blinked at him, then shook his head.  He let out a small laugh.  “Happy Halloween, Lockdown.”


End file.
